


Recollection

by LackingHubris



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Interrogation, Reader-Insert, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2018-12-18 10:24:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11872380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LackingHubris/pseuds/LackingHubris
Summary: After a run-in with Talon, you attempt to re-assemble your life before it fell apart. Will you be able to re-form your shattered memories, or will the life you had before be lost?





	1. Chapter 1

Darkness. 

A slight sound on the edge of your subconscious teased your mind, willing you, albeit gently, to wake up. You brushed it off as best as you could, preferring to remain in the inky pit of emptiness a little longer. But still the noise pushed and prodded you to wake. Soon, accompanying the noise was a minor discomfort. The more the sound pulled at you, the more discomfort you felt. You felt it in your hands, on your body, in your head. The throb of your pulse in your skull became relentless, and light began filtering through your eyelids. You wanted to open them, to see what the noise was that had grabbed you from the blissful darkness.  
But your lids were so heavy. As if you hadn’t slept in days. Had you slept? You didn’t remember. The more you thought about it, the more you wished to return to the dark, where things didn’t hurt, there were no noises and light and confusion. A small groan from somewhere added to the cacophony that was pounding in your skull, though you did not know where it had come from. Your own voice, perhaps.

The noise reached such a fevered pitch that you thought that you would slip back in to the dark, but a sharp strike across your face jolted you awake, your eyes snapping open with the force of the blow. A metallic room greeted your sight, machines and wires hooked up to more machines with more wires, clearly a room of frequent experimentation, littered with miscellaneous medical material that you couldn’t recall the names of. There were people, too, here and there. Sinister people, who held uninviting darkness in their eyes, unlike the kind you had emerged from a moment before. But, they were not the source of the blow that had caused your cheek to swell and redden, nor the source of the small cuts that peppered your face, blood slowly dripping down your jaw line to your collar bone, seeping in to your shirt.

You turn your face towards the front of your body, brain trying to make sense of the chaos that it had been suddenly thrown in to, coming face to face with a skull clothed in black. Surely, it was a demon intent to take you, your mind reasoned, before the pieces of your fractured memory being to slowly re-form in to something more plausible. You had been on a mission, though you could not remember who for just yet. And you had been sent to take out a team known as…  
Your eyes dart towards the demon figures hands, seeing the metallic claws that now dripped with your blood. Talon. It had been Talon that you were sent to infiltrate and destroy. For a group… And suddenly the pieces were forming quicker than you could keep up. Overwatch, Talon, being caught on your infiltration mission, a random assortment of names and places and times and dates all rushing back to you in quick, rapid fire succession. And the man in front of you, though now, less of a man and more of the demon that you had originally thought him to be, a turncoat for Talon. Reyes. Or now known more for his codename: Reaper.  
He flicked his hands, the metallic claws on the ends of his gloves sending a small spattering of blood across the floor. He made a noise of disgust, as if being in your presence was enough to offend him, let alone having your blood on him. The added effort of having to remove blood from his hands only seemed to add to his irritation. 

“I’ll ask you one last time.” The voice from behind the mask sounded like gravel had fallen in to his vocal chords, grinding them to dust. “Tell me the coordinates to the base, and I’ll give you the swift death that you don’t deserve.” You could only stare up at him, anger glinting in your bloodshot eyes. It would be a cold day in the depths of whatever hell had called Reyes back from before you’d reveal information on your teammates.  
Your friends. You may have been the newest recruit, but you had been trained by one of the oldest, and best. And even with your life on the line, you wouldn’t break. That you swore to yourself before the mission, and reminded yourself of that declaration now. You wouldn’t break. You couldn’t, or it would cost you everything you held so dear. Though, your silence would cost you as well, that much you could see, even as the clawed appendage shot forth to strike you once again, landing a blow in your unprotected rib cage. Something felt like it snapped, causing you to gasp and double over as best you could, given your restraints.  
“I hate new recruits. They think that they’re unbreakable. That they can do anything. That they’re… superheroes,” he all but spat the last word out, yanking your face back to face him with a vice like grip. Had your hands only been free, you may have chanced a blow to the mask that leered at you.  
“Thankfully, I know how to make you talk. And we’ll have plenty of time to worm out every bit of information from you before you die. Morrison was always the soft one, never pushing hard enough. You have to break before you can be built up again. He only cracked you.” He flung your head away forcefully enough to make it bounce off of the metal plate that you had been tethered to, stars popping up in front of your eyes. He no longer spoke to you, and it was all you could do to focus on his words. 

“All testing has been approved. I don’t care what you do with them, so long as we make progress on our modification technology. Talon wants results. Consider this your guinea pig.” A shadow nodded, one you could only assume was a lead in whatever group you were currently part of, though the flecks of darkness peppering your vision made it difficult to discern who he was speaking to, and threatened to pull you back in to unconsciousness. “Keep them alive enough to talk. We won’t get another opportunity like this for a while,” he said, the threat of a fate worse than death in the underlying tone of his voice. “With the Petras Act in effect, Overwatch will be disbanding, if they haven’t already. They’ll be harder to find now that they’ve gone in to hiding.” The last sentence was but a mutter, but you heard it clearly enough to partially emerge from the threatening darkness. Disbanded? Overwatch? Petras Act?  
“Of course, that means that no one will come looking for them.”

You lay there, confused, even after the wraith had clicked away in his metal heeled boots, passing through a door that you had failed to see due to his form blocking your line of sight. They wouldn’t come looking? You were a casualty of course, but they wouldn’t abandon you, would they? 

You felt odd sensor pads being put on your forehead and arms, but hardly registered their presence. 

They wouldn’t leave you to be interrogated, right? They had to be coming. They were on their way right now, surely. 

You heard the sound of a machine whirring to life. 

No, that had to be wrong. He didn’t know them like you did. Right? They would be here. 

Switches were flipped on near your head, and the people in the room began stirring. Some held clipboards and pens. They stared at you expectantly. What did they want? You grew more agitated with every moment. They should be running now! Reinhardt, he would surely be breaking down the doors any moment to pick you up and carry you to a drop ship. And Dr. Zeigler, she would be there to fix the gashes that littered your form, the bruising that threatened to swell your eye shut, your cracked, if not broken rib. Everyone would be there! 

Your body arced, and for a few, blissful microseconds, you felt nothing, before pain surged throughout your form, spurned on by the machine pumping volts in to your body. Pain you had never experienced, nor wanted to experience again. 

The click of metal boots echoed down the empty hall leading away from a pair of metal doors, accompanied by the sound of tortured screams.


	2. Chapter 2

The wall was cool beneath your bruised and battered cheek. The grooves in it were familiar to you, worn down by the constant, idle touching of your calloused palms. You knew every nook, every bump and scratch on them by this point, through the pacing and waiting you did within the room. That’s all you ever seemed to do now. Wait for the next round of tests. Wait for food. Wait for a rescue that you had begun to believe would never come. Your skin, once holding a healthy glow, now looked dull and grey. Bruises littered your form, both visible on your face and arms, and hidden beneath the tattered remains of a smock that had been tossed at you one day, long after your mission attire had grown too useless to function properly. There were new scars across your body to match the bruises, some so old you couldn’t remember what they had been from, some new enough to remember how it felt to receive it. 

Each scar accompanied information. A new weapon tested on your arm, here. A new machine to increase stamina, on your sternum, there. The long gash down the center of your body, an attempt to prevent puncture wounds hidden under the flesh. Many failures, but some successes. The scientists and medical staff didn’t seem to care that you knew, or they assumed you couldn’t understand. You were to be killed later on anyway, so what was the harm? It would have been easy to give up. To stop living out of sheer spite and instead curl up on the floor, refuse to eat, and die. 

But there was always hope. That had been something that a friend once told you. You didn’t remember their name right now, you were much too tired from the sleep deprivation, but you knew someone had said that to you. You could vaguely remember their face. Their messy, brown hair and cheerful smile being most prominent in your mind. Someone who had told you that there was always something to fight for. But you couldn’t give the face a name. 

So you had willed yourself to survive. For three years, you had survived the day to day testing, the interrogation and death threats on yourself and whatever family Talon assumed that you possessed. Your family had always been Overwatch. They had taken you in, taught you how to fight, how to resist. And you would not fail them. You refused. 

_...Lena._ That was the name. 

Bars clanked back on a metal track as the door to your cell was opened, startling you out of your thoughts and causing you to slowly get to your feet. Another round of testing, you surmised, judging by your escorts. Your tormentor wasn’t Reyes. He had been oddly absent as of late. Instead, a brutish man accompanied by one of the medical staff was present. The man, or woman, it was hard to tell with their masks and lab coats covering them up from head to toe, briefly checked you over, before nodding to their guard. Once again, you had been cleared, at least physically, for whatever tests you were to do today. The freshly stitched and dressed wound on the side of your ribcage made you hope that it would be something other than surgical implantation, but it was always a crapshoot.

The guard stepped forward, roughly grabbing your wrists and cuffing them together behind your back. A smart move, though an unnecessary one. You had been too weak to do much of anything since they had begun feeding you the bare minimum in nutrition: enough to keep you walking, but not enough to allow you to fight back. It wasn’t worth the beating you would receive later on to try anything, even grabbing the medical personnel as a hostage. Not that you had anything to threaten them with. You hardly looked all that imposing or threatening currently.

With calloused, angry hands, the guard grabbed your smock’s collar and dragged you forward and out of the small cell in to a hallway that branched off to either side. To the left, experiments, to the right, interrogation, each equally unappealing. You automatically turned towards the left. It wasn’t hard to figure out where you would be going today. With a push to the back of your neck, you started walking, the guard following close behind you, the medical staff member behind them. The floor was cold under foot, though it did little to wake you. You hoped, vainly, that some form of escape may come up in your path towards the operating table, but the guard, seeming to sense your thoughts, grabbed your bindings roughly, nearly pulling you backwards to the floor. It was in this manner that you continued your walking, passing through the swinging doors in to the medical bay.

The room you entered was much the same as it had been in previous encounters. Talon, it seemed, had knowledge of your desire to run, and had taken steps to prevent you from doing so prior to your arrival, as if they had planned your capture in advance. The machines were bolted to the floor, and there were two guards present in the metal room that haunted your nightmares with electrodes and needles. The guards already there had the courtesy to let you lean back against the metal table that stood straight up on the floor, before replacing the cuffs you wore with ones strapped down to the metal makeshift bed, which leaned back slightly once you were secured in. 

The medical staff took this as a sign to being preparing for the days experiment, and bustled about getting last minute preparations ready. You couldn’t see any surgical carts with the usual array of tools on it, so assumed it would be something else, though what it would be, you had no idea. You had never been that good with the medical aspect of things, even when Overwatch still had you under its wing. That was the good doctor’s job. Idly, you thought it a shame they hadn’t come to rescue you before now. The doc would have been able to reduce the scarring, you were sure. She was good like that. But now they would stay with you permanently as a constant reminder of what you had endured thus far. You distracted yourself from these sobering thoughts by watching the people walk around, interact with monitors, place sensors on you, and, at one point, watched as an IV was inserted in to the crook of your arm, puncturing through the scar tissue that had begun to build up there, too. At this point, the pain and discomfort didn’t even bother you. 

Soon, the flurry of activity ground to a slow pace, and the clipboards that medical personnel used during your sessions came out, indicating their readiness to start. A small exhale escaped you, one that you didn’t realize had been held in, before you were approached by a man with a syringe. He didn’t speak, of course, or tell you what was in it, even as he tested it and pushed out a small amount of liquid, pricking your upper arm with the needle. They never mentioned what they were doing to you, directly, and never during the experiment. It was always afterward, when they spoke to someone higher up than them. Sometimes it was Reyes. Sometimes not. 

Your arm burned a little from the metal intrusion that punched in to your muscle, and the liquid that was pushed in to it. Nothing out of the ordinary, even after being injected. In fact, you felt perfectly normal, all things considered. No worse than you were prior to exiting your cell, and certainly a lot better than you had felt during previous experimentation. Notes were being taken nearby, evident by the scratching of pen on paper. Someone else stood nearby, holding a stop watch and conferring with another clipboard wielder. Time ticked by slowly. It was a waiting game, to see if anything would come of this little endeavor of theirs, or if it would fall once again in to the category of failures like so many before. You could see the scientists and medical staff look to each other nervously, clearly wondering why nothing seemed to be happening. One, whom you assumed to be a lead of the project, took a step forward. 

Around the room, red lights began flashing, some from the walls, some from machines. An alarm heard off in the distance, starting down the hall, cascaded towards the room in which you currently were present, before beginning to resonate within, bouncing off the walls, creating a roar that made it hard to understand the words that repeated endlessly on an automated loop.

**RED ALERT, RED ALERT. FACILITY ON LOCKDOWN. ALL PERSONNEL PREPARE TO ENGAGE.**

Confusion, then fear ran across the faces of those near you. There was a brief scuffle, computers shut off, memory pulled, files destroyed, all in an attempt to prevent information from falling in to the hands of whomever had decided to pay them a visit. You were all but forgotten, still suspended slightly off of the floor and wired up to machines. The doors in front of you that you had entered through opened and shut, though no one was there, and you were convinced that you were seeing things, until a woman materialized in front of the workers nearby. It was all you could do to keep yourself from smiling at their initial terror, which was replaced slowly by their recognition. 

She was dressed in a purple jacket, clearly modified with technology that was obvious even at a casual glance, and spoke with an accent. You had seen her before, at some point, though she had never walked in here before, nor been this close. Usually she was talking to Reyes, clearly irritating him to some degree, and hardly gave you a passing glance. Didn’t seem the type to ‘dirty her fingernails’ with a prisoner, or interrogation, you had suspected. 

Now, however, you seemed to have her full attention. She kept throwing glances your direction as she spoke with the man, brows furrowed, accompanied by an ever increasing frown at the corners of her mouth. You had been so busy examining her, that you only began paying attention to the conversation halfway through. 

“Miss Sombra, we haven’t even administered the other half of the serum that will render it usel-“

“Pendejo, we don’t have time! Wipe her now and then kill her afterward for good measure!” Her finger jabbed at the man's chest, clearly intimidated by the shorter woman in front of him. When he failed to spring to action at this, she huffed, turning away from him and pulling up a monitor in front of her, clearly using the technology that she had been modified with.

“They’ll be here any minute. Just get it hooked up and I’ll do the rest since you’re taking your time.”

The scientist nodded before scurrying away, only to return quickly with an odd, round metal ring and machine in tow. He placed the ring on your head, over the other sensors that had remained attached to your skin, before turning around to the buttons and switches that controlled it. It fit snugly, though it felt like the metal plates were pressed up against your temples just a little too tightly, almost cutting in to your skin. Wires hung down to the sides of your head, connecting you to the new machine, though you didn't recognize it, and couldn’t recall it being used on you previously. It looked more state of the art, infused with what you only surmised was extremely advanced technology. He busied himself with turning it on, only to be shoved out of the way by the woman, Sombra, who clicked away at keys faster than you had believed possible. The man scurried away, exiting through the door that she had walked in through. While she worked, she talked, and it took you a moment to realize that it was you she was addressing. 

"Thankfully I have just enough time to get this done before your little friends get here. And since you won't remember any of this anyways, I'm just going to tell you what I'll be doing. I’ll just finish you off afterward, but it’ll be fun to see you lose it all before then. Have to keep things interesante around here, right? Plus, I don’t want to have to listen to everyone complain if you aren’t dead."

You heart lept at the mention of friends coming to get you. Were they finally here to take you back? After all this time? All these years? You'd get to see everyone again, get to hug them and tell them that you missed them, that you never forgot them, that you knew that they would come back for you. But... Wouldn't remember it? How could you forget any of this, you wondered. You were certain there wasn't enough therapy or hypnosis in the world that could make you forget any time soon, so you weren't sure what she meant by that. Clearly your confusion was evident, which she smirked at. 

"You know what this is?" She patted the machine you were hooked up to, almost affectionately. "It's a machine that lets me play with your memories. What I'm going to do, just in case you somehow manage to live through the bullet I'll be putting through your forehead, is erase everything." She paused for effect, clearly enjoying the look of confusion and simultaneous horror that had creeped on to your features. "I think I'll erase... Oh, probably everything up to and after you joined Overwatch. That sounds good. Not only do you lose all of your friends, but all of your knowledge of this place, all of your training, pretty much anything that's important to you." she smiled, clearly pleased about this decision of hers, continuing to clack away on the keys. "So glad that we have that information on you. I guess even el fantasma is good for something now and again. He dug up all the information on new recruits just before the rebellion. How convenient, right? Such a shame I can’t actually see your memories though. It would have been a lot easier. We could have just gotten rid of you right away." 

Only now did you begin to struggle against your bonds, having processed what was happening to you, the cuffs holding you up digging in to your wrists and ankles as you pulled and tugged, sheering skin off with each horror fueled moment. The blood dripped down to your knuckles, white with exertion and fear, doing little to help you escape. You kicked and pulled with as much strength as you hand left, finding some form of reserve adrenaline that eluded you previously, causing your ankles to mirror your wrists with scarlet. 

I can't forget, I can't! Everyone is coming to get me, I can't forget! I know too much! Tracer, Winston, Dr. Zeigler, Reinhardt, McCree, everyone, I can't forget! Please!  
You shouted in frustration, attempting to fling the headpiece away, to no avail. You banged your head on the metal table, attempting to break it, only causing stars to flash in front of your face. The machine whirring to life brought on another wave of panic, and you arched in an attempt to free yourself, flexing what little muscle you had left. The terror did not sprout from the threat of death. You had endured that for three years. No. The terror of loss was much more threatening. 

Sombra flipped a switch, casually watching you squirm. You could hear the machine's electricity whirr through the wires and tubes, watched as she placed a hand on a large lever. 

"Bye-bye," she muttered with a small wave, before pulling it down. The instant it slammed down in to the metal of the machine, a white hot pain lanced through your skull, as if lightning were dancing through your brain and down your spine. A piercing noise escaped past your lips, more animalistic than human, echoing through the room as you thrashed spastically, your body attempting to remove itself from the source of agony regardless of the damage it caused in the process. If you had been coherent enough to realize, you would have heard the pop of your left wrist as it broke, felt the pain as you continued to move it. But the pain in your skull was unbearable, far beyond that of mere broken bones, and it traveled to your very core.

Beyond your vision and comprehension, Sombra whipped her head around in the direction of the door, a hammer having flung it almost completely from their hinges. With a loud curse, she disappeared, leaving a bewildered behemoth of a man standing in the doorway at an almost empty room. A figure zipped by, blue light trail behind her as she raced to the machine that was left on, still causing your body to spasm. 

She held a hand up to her ear, talking in to an invisible microphone. "Angela! Angela quick! Hurry, we found her!" The woman quickly looked over the machine, zipping back and forth faster than any normal human should, before deducing that the lever was the best choice, and yanking it down. "We need to get her down from here! Give me a hand!"

Your head lolled to the side as the pain mercifully ceased. On the cusp of darkness, you heard a voice yelling for someone named Angela. Wearily, you opened your eyes to see a woman in front of you, with messy brown hair and a worried expression, though she slipped in and out of focus. Beyond her was what appeared to be a knight, though it was difficult to determine this for certain. 

As the darkness enveloped you, you couldn't help but wonder who they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In theory, I plan on having the next chapter up some time within the next few days, but it seems to be giving me issues. We'll see.  
> I would like to update weekly, or bi-weekly, eventually. I wanted to get a few chapters out before that starts up, though.  
> Also, please forgive me for my rusty writing. It's been a while.


	3. Chapter 3

It was the smell of antiseptic that woke you, causing you to stir, though each movement that you made elicited a groan, limbs and head aching terribly from the exertion. Ever so carefully, you opened your eyes, cracking them against the dim lighting and wincing only briefly, the fluorescent bulbs above your bed mercifully having been turned off. A dull blue-green curtain served to block your bed from view, as well as the light that peeked over the edge.

Slowly, gingerly, you sat up, taking note of the copious amounts of bandages that you seemed be covered in. Your wrists feel stiff from their tight hold, and you are not quite sure what exactly has happened to them to warrant the amount of gauze and medical tape currently holding them in place. You couldn’t recall hurting yourself, not this badly, nor this recently, and you couldn’t remember anyone hurting you, either. For that matter, you couldn’t really recall where you were. This thought brought to mind a brief moment of panic, before you willed yourself to calm down. If you were in danger, you surmised, you certainly wouldn’t be this well taken care of, nor would you be unrestricted, as you were.

With some gentle and prolonged movements, you manage to peel away the blanket and sheet layer covering you, though it takes a little while to work around your stiff wrists, pounding head, and various other bandages, bruises, aches, and pains that you discover in the process. Once the outer layers are peeled away, you stare at your legs, heart leaping at the sight of all of the scars, new and old, that litter your skin. With a hand, you run your fingers over them, trying to recall where they even came from, as its obvious that some are newer than others. There was no way you had managed to get all of these on your own; even your childhood scars were minimal at best. 

You take a moment to muster up the energy to move, before gingerly swinging your legs off of the bed and to the floor, feet making contact with the cool tile. Bracing yourself on the railing of your hospital bed, you shakily make it to your feet, your wobbling akin to a newborn deer taking its first steps. Making a few shuffling footsteps forward, with one hand on the end of the rail, you manage to slide the curtain back enough to peer out beyond, squinting at the additional light that pierces your dark sanctuary. The light that peeks through the crack you made in the curtain does nothing for your headache.

The room was sparsely decorated, containing medical cabinets against the left wall, and a few more beds, each with their own curtain, you assumed. The curtains were drawn shut, so you had no idea if anyone happened to be behind them, or if they were, in fact, actually beds at all. But the entire room was well maintained, and very clean, though you felt that some of the equipment was a bit outdated. 

You had been placed in the bed that was farthest from the door to the room. It was obvious that this was the door to the hallway, which contained blinds over what you assumed was an almost full-length window, although they remained closed, preventing you from looking out, and preventing anyone else from looking in. An office straight ahead of you with blinds drawn catches your attention, lights twinkling through the small gaps around the door frame. You slide your hand down to the bed itself before pushing the curtain back fully, wobbling until you are at the end of your cot. Stopping for a moment, you mentally prepare yourself for the journey across the room to the door, and psyche yourself up to meet whomever was in the office, assuming it was indeed occupied. Surely someone could answer your questions. Though moving meant possibly falling over on the way to them, and you weren’t completely sure that you’d be able to pick yourself up again if that happened, you had enough questions to make it somewhat worth it. …Somewhat. There were, after all, no beds between yourself and the door. For a moment, you consider just wheeling the bed along with you, but decide against it due to its weight and your lack of strength. 

Before you manage to properly gear yourself up to precariously move to the door frame, which, in all fairness, is not that far away, the door opens. A woman, sporting a blonde ponytail and white lab coat emerges, stopping when she sees you. For a moment, the two of you stare at one another in surprise, before she rushes to your side, looking you over and steadying your shaky form, speaking with a distinctly German accent.

“Oh! You are awake! But you need to lay back down, you are not ready to be up and moving yet.” With a deceptively firm grip on your upper arm, she guides you back to the bed and forces you to lay back down, putting the sheets and blanket back over you. With one hand, she presses a button on the side of your bed, raising you up in to a sitting position.

“It’s good to see that you have managed to wake up though! You have been asleep for about four days. I have not seen you sleep this long in a while!” She chuckles quietly at her last remark, causing you to furrow your brows in confusion. When she realizes that you had yet to join in, her laughter dies slowly, replaced by a small smile. 

“My apologies. I know it must be difficult, having been through as much as you have. It truly is good to see you awake though. We have all missed you very much. It was not the same without you here.” She brings a chair over to the side of your bed and takes a seat, crossing her legs before placing her hands delicately on one knee. You could feel concern growing in your chest, though it was more from lack of information, as opposed to fear of your surroundings. You honestly had no idea who this woman was, yet she spoke as if you were good friends. Despite this, you didn’t feel scared of her, even if she did have a vice-like grip.

You take a moment before deciding it best to ask one of the multitude of questions on your mind. "Where exactly... am I?" You manage, choosing to save the more complicated question of 'who are you and why do you know me?' for later on. You feel that it would only add to the growing pile.  
She looks at you, clearly perplexed that you would ask such a thing. Evidently, you were supposed to know that. "Why, you're at the Gibraltar base of course. You don't recognize it?" She asks. You shake your head at her slowly, causing her to furrow her brows and take out a flashlight from her breast pocket. Turning it on, she waves it over your eyes as she speaks, watching them dilate beneath the beam. 

"Well, you did have some minor burns on your skin around your temples... Do you have any other memory related problems?" She turns off the flashlight and returns it to her pocket before taking her seat once again, looking slightly concerned.  
"Y/N, can you tell me what you do remember?" She asks, leaning forward a little.

It takes you a moment before you reply, hoping to word your sentence correctly. “I know… general things, presidents, current events, technology details, things like that. I know that your equipment here looks a little out of date, for instance, compared to the holoscreen technology that most modern hospitals use... But..." You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip. "…I don't know who you are. Or what Gibraltar is, or where it is. Or why I’m here. Why do I have all of these scars?" You ask, the questions beginning to tumble forth freely. “What happened to me? Did I do something, or was it an accident? I don’t… I don’t know what’s going on…I’m sorry…”  
You manage a glance towards her, having begun fiddling with the edge of the bedsheet prior to your series of questions. She looks taken aback, almost stunned at your statement, and stands rather quickly after slightly regaining her composure. 

"You don't remember? Nothing at all? No names? Faces? Anything? Missions, perhaps?" You shake your head no, afraid to interrupt her. Maybe she would explain more, give you something to jog your memory. 

With a slow nod of understanding, she moves the chair to where it was previously, before returning to your bedside, crossing her hands in front of her. "Well then. I'll need to run some more tests. And inform the others that you are most certainly not going to be out and about until we figure out exactly what happened here." She stated rather professionally, though it was obvious that she was vainly trying to make it seem like everything was under control. "Don't worry. You're in good hands. I suppose that I should... re-introduce myself, then...” She said quietly, almost sadly. “I am Dr. Angela Ziegler. Though, everyone calls me Angela, most of the time. Mercy, when in the field. It is a pleasure." She extends her hand towards you, and you take it, managing a small smile.

"Angela?" You ask, the name stirring your memory banks. "I heard someone asking for you, before... I guess blacking out? Someone with brown hair, maybe..." You trail off, trying to retrieve the sketchy memories from your mind. 

"Oh! Yes! That was when we retrieved you! Tracer called for me to assist in healing your wounds, though she was reprimanded for not using codenames in the field." She replied, showing slight excitement at your recollection. "Do you remember anything else?"

Taking a moment to think, you stare up at the ceiling tiles above your bed in contemplation. "I... think so... I remember someone in armor. An older man?" You ask, looking towards her. With a smile, she nods at you. "Yes, that's Reinhardt. He was also present at your retrieval." You nod your head, committing the name to memory. You hope, at least. 

"Other than that... I don't remember anything… It's a big blank." Her smile faltered, though only briefly, before returning to her previous expression. You lean back against your bed with a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry. I wish I could remember... Something. Anything, even."

"Do not worry. I am sure that with time, and some gentle encouragement, everything will return to you. I will be back in just a moment to take some routine blood samples and run a few minor tests to make sure you're in good health. Please excuse me for now." Tilting her head in your direction with a nod, she rises from her seat and walks towards her office, shutting the curtains around your bed behind her. You listen to the soft clicking of her heels, followed by the sound of her office door closing. You find yourself exhaling a subconsciously held breath. 

You stare at the ceiling for a few minutes, wondering why you can't remember. The questions floating around in your mind are maddening, and only lead to more questions. It feels like ages before you hear the office door opening and the 'click click click' of heels on the floor walking to where you recall the medicine cabinets were. You remember that you’ll be having a blood test done, and at least are happy that your short term memory works. 

The sliding of drawers and opening of cabinet doors follow, before the clicking leads to your bed, Dr. Ziegler opening the curtains once more. "There we are. We'll be having a few visitors here in a moment, but I will be beginning the tests now, that way I won't interrupt them." 

From her pocket, she pulls out two vials, setting them on the bed near you. She proceeds in checking your eyes again with a small pocket flashlight, reading your pulse and temperature from a monitor, checking your ears, your throat, and asking the typical series of questions most doctors ask. The only time you witnessed her falter in the slightest was just before pricking your skin in preparation for taking blood.

Turning your arm over, she runs an alcohol wipe over your veins before grabbing the needle, turning back once more and placing it on your skin. However, she hesitates, and you turn your attention to her. She stares at your skin, a sad look on her face that you follow downward to a small scar where the needle was positioned. You only can assume it’s a repeated puncture wound. 

"It's okay," you say quietly, causing her to snap her head up to look at you. "Go ahead. Do what you need to do." You've only just met, but you can't help but like how caring she seems to be. With a small nod, she turns back, hesitating a moment more before pricking your vein, the connecting tube filling with blood. Pressing the vial on the end, she nods in approval at how quickly they fill, easily finishing off the second tube before removing the needle, replacing it with a band-aid and cotton ball. 

"I will probably not be able to get these tested today, but I should be able to examine them within the next two days or so. Just to make sure there's nothing we need to be concerned with, infection, that sort of thing. But judging by your appearance, you’ll be just fine." She places the two vials in her pocket and stands, cleaning the bits of paper and packaging from your bed and smoothing out the blankets. Before she can return to her office, however, the door to the clinic swings open, turning your attention towards the figures that enter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will be weekly for now. I have a few chapters pre-written, so hopefully this will allow me to stay on a schedule. Should update on Wednesdays.
> 
> I had such a difficult time with this chapter. Forgive the wordiness of it.
> 
>  
> 
> If anyone is interested in this, that is, I'd like to sketch out some scenes for a few chapters here and there. Probably not anything like one per chapter, but a few here and there to add some variety. Feel free to comment to let me know if this is a thing you'd like to see.


	4. Chapter 4

A man with stern features enters the clinic first, his military background evident simply by the way that he holds himself as he walks in to the room. His attire only adds to your impression of him, steel-toed boots thumping heavily on the floor as he moves in to the room, the second individual taking up the entire doorframe as he squeezes himself through the entrance. You only realize after taking in their high tech suit and massive frame that the person is actually gorilla.

“What’s the situation, Angela?” The military man speaks first, his voice gravely and betraying his age, aided by the wrinkles on his face as he approaches you and Dr. Zeigler. You’d put him somewhere in his 50s, but you weren’t sure. After all, there were multiple ways people could extend their life currently, what with cryostasis and advancements in medical procedures, so it wouldn’t surprise you to find he was older, if that were the case. 

“My apologies for not getting here sooner, Angela. He was notoriously difficult to find.” The gorilla, clearly full of surprises, nods at the man next to him, causing the him to huff. Turning towards you, the gorilla nods and gives you a rather warm smile, and you find yourself returning it, having taken a liking to him already, even if you weren’t quite used to talking gorillas. Dr. Ziegler, however, didn’t seem the least bit surprised at this, and continued on as if it were a perfectly normal occurrence.

“It’s quite alright Winston. I am glad that you both made it here so quickly. The situation is… Well…” Dr. Zeigler turns to look at you for a moment, formulating her thoughts, before turning back and explaining about your memory loss to the both of them. Winston fails to hide their surprise, and the unnamed man crosses his arms in front of his chest, eyes narrowing and causing his crows feet to exaggerate. 

“Damn it… I knew I should have snuck in there and gone after them myself when it first happened…” He rubs his face with his hand, sighing. Turning to look at you, he looks you over for a moment, taking in your bandaged arms and face. “So what **do** you remember, soldier?”

He sounded skeptical, which made you bristle slightly. Clearly you were battered and bruised, wasn't that evidence enough of whatever had happened to you?

Sitting up straight, you resist the urge to turn your eyes away beneath the intimidating gaze. “Not much… I remember everything from my past, dates, names of important people, that sort of thing… You trail off, furrowing your brow for a moment, trying to summon up your most recent memory. “Dr. Zeigler mentioned missions earlier, so I guess I was part of something involving that, right?” You look to him, then Winston, hoping for some indication. Winston nods encouragingly, and you continue. “The funny thing is, I know that I wanted to join Overwatch at some point, so that’s the only thing I can think that I may have done, but I can’t remember joining. I can’t remember training, or trying out, or even submitting paperwork to it. Is… that what happened?” It had been an elusive dream for you for years. To join the organization was something that you had strived for ever since you were a child, ever since seeing posters and pamphlets encouraging people to join and become a hero akin to ones in comic books. If you had managed to make the cut, even without your memories, you’d be over the moon. It would make all of the years of physical training and practicing worth it.

Winston turned to look at the man, adjusting his small spectacles for a moment. “We should at least let them know that much, 76.” He waited, speaking rather quietly for someone so large. The man, 76, continued to hold your gaze for a few moments, making you fidget slightly under his scrutiny, before turning his face towards Dr. Zeigler.

“We don’t need another Lacroix incident, Angela. Can you say with one hundred percent certainty that it won’t happen again?”  
Dr. Zeigler looked surprised. “Well of course not! They have only just regained consciousness, and I have yet to be able to run any tests. That aside, Lacroix was allowed to re-enter society even after being given a clean bill of health. You know that as well as anyone. There are no tests that any of us could perform that would indicate that they are nott capable of that.”

“Are there any indicators as to why they may have lost so much time and information?” Winston asked. “If we knew how it happened, we might be able to figure out a means to fix it, or reverse it.” He looked towards you and gave you an apologetic smile. “I can’t guarantee we can get your memories back, of course. There are some things science isn’t capable of doing just yet, I’m afraid.” You nod, and he turns back to Dr. Zeigler.

“They did have some minor burns on their temples, but other than that, there isn’t anything to note. We did find them attached to a machine at the time we retrieved them. That may give me an idea as to what happened, if we have a way to bring it here. I did not take a look at it at the time. Lena and myself thought it best to remove them from the facility as soon as possible, in case reinforcements arrived.” 

76 thought for a moment before nodding curtly. “Lena and I will bring the machine back, and we’ll have Winston take a look at it. In the mean time,” he turned to you once more, “You’re being placed on lockdown in this medical bay until you’re given the medical all clear. Then you’ll be moved to one of the holding cell we have in this facility. Is that clear?” 

It was clear, but not something you wanted to hear, and begin to protest before stopping yourself. “Understood. But why am I going to be moved? I barely know how to walk at this point, I don’t think I’m any sort of-“

“Of what? Threat? No, maybe not now, but later on when you’ve recovered? We don’t know what happened to you, if you’re lying, if you defected, nothing. You’ll be moved to the cell as soon as we know more. Is that clear?” He stared you down until you nodded.

“Crystal,” you mutter, a slight edge to your voice. It hurt to not be trusted by these people, even if you had only just met them. Then again, you surmised, you would probably be a bit skeptical yourself, had your roles been reversed. Still, it was a fight to keep yourself from protesting further.  
“ETA on medical clearance?” 76 had turned away from you already and was addressing the doctor, who looked almost appalled at his suggestion to move you.  
“A few days I would guess, but I don’t think that they shou-“  
“I didn’t ask for your opinion, Dr. Zeigler.” He cut her protest off, turning smartly and heading towards the door. It was unclear if he noticed the stunned look she wore from him formally addressing her. “I’ll send someone to keep an eye on them. Expect them to be here as soon as I drag them by their boot straps up here. No visitors. I want this clinic locked up until I give the say so, is that understood?”

He turns his head back once he reaches the door. Dr. Zeigler sighs quietly, face tense in acceptance, before nodding, as does Winston, which seemed to be enough for 76, causing him to exit swiftly. As the door clicked shut behind him, Dr. Zeigler seemed to explode in anger, spewing forth what you’d imagine were a few choice words about 76 in German, before calming herself down enough to regain her composure. Winston, chuckling quietly, removes his spectacles and cleans them with a delicate touch.  
“Oh don’t worry Angela. She’ll be fine. She’s already gone through three years of Talon’s interrogation, so a little time in the holding cells will be easy enough to handle. Once we get that machine here, we can start figuring out everything, and she’ll be out before we know it. Not to worry, Y/N. We’ll work as fast as we can. And Athena will make it a lot easier, I’m sure.” He chuckled, replacing his spectacles on the bridge of his nose. “You’ll re-meet her once we move you,” he added. 

“Okay…” You mutter, sighing. “It’s just odd, not knowing anything about… any of this. I don’t even know what the Lacroix incident is, though it sounds important enough that I should. I don’t suppose I can ask about it, right?”  
Winston shakes his head no, and you nod. “I thought so.” 

He pats your shoulder heavily, making you sag slightly under the weight of his hand. “Don’t worry about it too much, Y/N. If we can’t figure out how to get your memories back, that just means we’ll have to make new ones, right?” He gives you a toothy smile. “I’m sure that everyone waiting on your recovery will be excited to tell you about all of the things that they’ve experienced with you, anyways. You’ll find only friends here, I promise. Even 76, though he’s more of a… stern old man, really,” he adds, causing Dr. Zeigler to huff in some semblance of laughter. "He's just worried. Don't take it too much to heart."

“So… who is he going to send up here to keep an eye on me?” You ask, giving the two of them a questioning look.  
“Probably Jesse if I were to wager a guess,” Dr. Zeigler says, heading towards her office. “Though it may take a while for him to get up here. He disappears when he wishes to.” She shuts the door to her office behind her, leaving you and Winston. "Especially if he knows 76 is looking for him," he adds, chuckling.  
“He’s a little rough around the edges, but I think you’ll like him. You did before, at least. You two always got in trouble,” he finishes, taking a seat on the floor nearby. Even on the floor he was almost tall enough to see eye to eye with you, sitting on your bed as you were. “He regarded you much like a sister, so it may be a bit of a shock to him to know that you don’t remember him. Give him some time to come to terms with it, and I’m sure you both will be back to making 76 pull his hair out sooner than you think. Not that there’s much left,” he adds with a touch of amusement, causing you to choke back a snort of laughter. “Until then though, feel free to get some much deserved rest, Y/N. I’ll be here until he arrives.”

You nod, flopping back on your bed, head making a ‘whump’ noise as it connects with the pillow. Winston pulls out a small PDA from the front of his suit and begins poking at it with the stylus. Occasionally he rubs his chin with his foot, or absentmindedly scratches an itch on his head. The silence that falls between you two isn’t cumbersome or awkward, but instead is that of two friends who choose to share it. You find yourself dozing slightly, and manage a final question before sleep claims you.

“Winston?” He hmms at you, still looking at his PDA. “Do you think I’ll get them back, my memories?” You were fading fast at this point, sleep pulling you in to its warm embrace, and you only just catch his reply before it claims you.  
“I hope so, Y/N. I truly do. We need all the heroes we can get.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I chose to keep Jack under his alias, at least for the time being, because he's always saying that Jack died a long time ago. I figured that he wouldn't want even people whom he has worked with to call him that, so I opted for 76 instead. I also wanted to use 76 instead of Soldier, because it felt a bit redundant, what with him referring to the protagonist as soldier and all. 76 seemed like a better compromise in the end. Whether the protagonist will find out about his old name, we'll see.
> 
> Apologies for the length of this chapter. I had intended it to be longer, but it became much too long, so I split it in to chapter 4 and chapter 5.


	5. Chapter 5

It was cold. Your feet ached as they paced around in circles, wearing the floor down further. You were not sure how long you had been walking here, pacing the same circle, waiting for something to happen. You knew that if you deviated even the slightest, everyone you knew and cared about would be gone. It was long enough to forget when you started, long enough for your feet to bleed as they paced the floor, the ground sharpening beneath your heels and tearing into your flesh mercilessly.

Yet you continued on, the ground warping and causing you to tumble forward, hands and knees grinding against the ground, blood flowing freely from them as well. You marched forward on them until your arms gave out beneath you. Your cheek burned as it made contact with the angry earth, pooling as you lay there. You turned your gaze downward, only to jump back with a start, realizing that there was no sharp earth beneath you, no rocks to break your skin. Instead, vividly white bones, broken and shattered, sticking up from the circle you had been pacing so dutifully, though now they lay speckled and smeared with red. 

You backpedal, your hands and feet making it difficult with the gore leaking from them, causing you to slip and slide as you crawl backwards across the smooth, unworn floor beneath you. A moment passes before you realize with horror that you have moved away from your circle of hell, and you fling yourself forward, scrambling back towards the jutting bones and blood soaked shards. 

The thought of the effects upon those you care about for leaving the circle causes you to quake in fear, even as you pull yourself forward inch by agonizing inch. Your hand stretches out towards the pale daggers jutting forth, thinking you may grab on to them to pull yourself towards them or spear your palm on them long enough to pull yourself in, only to find them receding from your grasp. You feel your body being dragged backwards and turn to look behind you. A black form grips your ankles with metallic claws, glittering and covered with just as much gore as the bones. The red dripped on to your flesh before splattering to the ground in large droplets. 

You kick at the monster, hands clawing at the ground, resisting as best you can, though finding no purchase on the slick flooring that was devoid of your devout pacing. Your nails break as they claw at the smooth surface, cuticles and fingertips bleeding, making light streaks on the flooring. You turn back, finding the monster looking at your almost pitiful attempts to escape, bright red glowing eyes boring in to your soul behind a mask of sharp, shimmering white bone. Black incorporeal mist hangs around its form, making up the arms of the being that grips your leg tightly enough to draw blood. It reaches around with its free hand, metallic claws clicking together, almost sharpening themselves, before plunging themselves in to your chest. 

You wake with a start, breathing heavily, your skin cold and clammy. Your hand presses to your chest where the claws had plunged in to your body, feeling to make sure that you had only dreamt it, that it had all been an illusion. You lean forward, holding your head in your hands, curling up as small as possible. It takes you a moment, but your breathing regulates itself, and you heavily exhale once you manage to feel relatively normal, though you remain with your head in your hands a little longer, trying to purge the memory of that awful being from your mind. 

Eventually, you lift your head up, checking your surroundings, assuring yourself that you hadn’t lost your memory once again, and that there were in fact no dark shadows lurking around the corner. 

_Still in the medical bay. Still at… What was it? Gibraltar? Yes. That was it._

It looked the same as before. Although, the boots on your bed were new. You follow them to a pair of jeans, connected to a man with a hat drawn down over his face. It was clear that you had yet to meet this person. You would have remembered the hat and spurs, you thought. He seemed to have dozed off for the time being, which prevented you from confirming this. You could hear a few small snores issuing forth from him every so often, accompanied by the rise and fall of his barrel chest.  
At least one of us is sleeping well… You think, mildly jealous that he wasn’t having the same problem that you had. Not wishing to return to the monster in your nightmares, you instead take in the man beside you, as the rest of your surroundings hadn’t changed since the last time you saw them. You assumed this was the person, McCree, that Dr. Zeigler mentioned, and since Winston was nowhere to be seen, you could only assume. Evidently, despite the content of your dream, you had slept heavily enough to keep you from waking when they switched shifts. 

The man’s boots had seen better days, though they seemed well taken care of, judging by the spurs attached to them, which twinkled faintly in the low light. Silver, you realized, though probably only plated, as that would be unpractical. The boots themselves were most likely leather, a dark brown color, the kind that only happen through continued use and constant touching, and possibly oil to keep them pliable. They had a faint crack forming where the shoe was continuously bent from walking, and the heel looked worn down and rounded on the edges. It was clear he used this pair of boots often.

He was dressed casually, the jeans he sat in were dusty looking and stained light brown at the knees, as if they were covered in a layer of dirt that evaded even the most diligent of wash cycles. A pistol rested on his hip, the side farthest from you, making it difficult to see what kind it was, though the holster and handle that you could see showed that it too was well take care of. A belt of bullets accompanied it. Something foreign to you rested on the other hip, a canister of some sort, but it was unclear what its purpose was. You moved on, noting his tan on the arms crossed over his chest. His shirt only added to the cowboy appearance, a button up red and white plaid one, collared, with the top button undone and sleeves rolled up to his upper arm. It was slightly wrinkled, you noted, though it bore no stains like the jeans. In lieu of his face, you instead noted his hat, also brown, though lighter than the boots, lined with bullets. They looked like live ammo, but you couldn’t be certain without looking at them closer, and didn’t wish to risk waking him. The hat, too, looked to be well worn and taken care of. It was a shame that he had pulled it down to block out the light, because you were curious as to what his face looked like underneath it. All together, he certainly had the appearance of a cowboy down to a T. 

You stretched your arms upward, feeling your muscles cramping slightly, though it was clear that despite your dreams, you felt much better than you had the previous day. At this thought, the curtain drew back, and Dr. Zeigler poked her head in. She nods at you, glancing at the sleeping McCree as she does so, before entering quietly with a tray of food in her hands. She sets it down in your lap, mouthing that she will be right back, before departing. You turn your attention towards the food in front of you. A piece of toast, cut in to triangles, a pre-packaged container of apple sauce, some jam and butter packets, and what looks like very, very bland oatmeal. The juice box on there is the first thing you reach for, and you puncture the hole in the top with the bendy straw after a few attempts. You doubt anything on the tray would taste nearly as good as the juice, but you try the applesauce all the same, as well as the toast, after smearing on a small bit of butter. 

While attempting to doctor the oatmeal up with your left over butter and jam, which was just as bland and tasteless as you had assumed it to be, Dr. Zeigler returned, bringing bandages and antibacterial packets with her, as well as a tray stand for you. She waits a moment until you set the tray to the side, before beginning to remove the gauze on your wrist. 

“How are you feeling today, Y/N?” She spoke in a quiet whisper, not wanting to wake the man next to you. He quietly snored on, oblivious to your conversation. 

“Better than yesterday, I guess,” You reply, watching as the gauze peels off your arm layer by layer. “Though I don’t feel 100% yet.” 

“That’s quite alright. You will not for a while. I would have used my staff to further heal your wounds, but with how many you sustained, it would not have been heathy to do so all at once.” She peeled off the last of the gauze, turning your wrist over to look at it from all angles. It didn’t look that bad to you, if you were honest. It was just a little bit raw at this point, and certainly wasn’t bleeding anymore. It hardly showed a wound at all, in fact. 

“Oh!” She started, still turning your wrist here and there, managing to return her voice to a quieter level after the initial shock wore off. “It… It looks to almost be fully healed!” 

“That’s good, right?” You add, a twinge of amusement in your voice. Why wouldn’t it be good? 

She quickly turned her attention to your other wrist, pulling the gauze off quickly and finding the same thing, ignoring your comment. The process repeated with your ankles, and every bandaged wound after, all with the same result. Everything appeared to be healing rather well, and none of your wounds appeared infected, though each unbandaged wound caused Dr. Zeigler to furrow her brows further. 

“This is… Odd. Nothing in your medical files indicated that you healed this quickly. You should still need bandages on your wounds, but these are almost completely healed. I’m not sure why they are healing so fast… I was expecting you to take a bit longer. Some of these wounds were very deep, and I even thought that I would have to treat you in the holding cells…” She looks up at you, hoping to find some form of recognition or indication, but you can only shrug at her, unsure yourself. 

“I need to run a few more tests. Maybe there’s something that will indicate what changed…” She mumbles to herself, gathering up the used and unused bandages, exiting through the curtain without pulling it shut. 

“ ‘Least she could’ve done was pull that closed.” 

You whip your head to the side as a gruff voice startles you from your confusion, only just realizing that you hadn’t heard the quiet snores for some time. He had moved the hat from his face, sitting up in the chair with a grunt and putting his feet down on the floor with a faint jingle from the spurs. The face matched his appearance, gruff and every bit of cowboy you had imagined it to be. 

“Well, ‘least you finally woke up,” he muttered, stretching out his arms across his chest. “Hope you don’t mind me takin’ a bit of a nap in the meantime.”  
“Not at all,” you manage. To you, he seemed a bit intimidating, though that may have just been from his initial appearance. He spoke kindly, however, and led you relax a little. In some way, you figured that he would be just like 76, and had been hesitant to talk to him because of this. 

He huffed, at you, leaning forward and resting his arms on his knees. “Good to see you haven’t changed a bit. Any idea who you’re talkin’ to, Y/N?” The question you had been waiting for. You looked away from his piercing stare. There was tension between the two of you, you felt it, almost like static. A step in either direction with your answer could make it snap like lightning, or fizzle out completely. You hoped that it would just fizzle. You’d rather not see this man snap.

“S-Sorry… No. I know your name because Dr. Zeigler told me, but-“ 

He all but exploded at you, standing up quickly and making you reel back away from his sudden outburst. “ _Dr. Zeigler?!_ The hell are you calling her _Dr. Zeigler_ for? You haven’t said that since you got here. You call her Angie, sometimes Angela if you’re serious about things, but never _Dr. Zeigler!_ ” It seemed that he had been holding in his outburst for some time by the way that it flowed so freely. “They told me that you didn’t remember anything, but I didn’t think you’d forget everything! You don’t even remember **my** name without someone telling you! After going through hell and high water together, all those missions, you’d think you could at least remember my damn name!” 

He was angry with you for forgetting, and you bristled, the irritation that you held back during the conversation with 76 rearing its head. It wasn’t as if you had forgotten on purpose, or that you had wanted to forget. “It’s not my fault, McCree!” You yell over his baritone voice, causing him to pull back with a twitch. “You think I WANT to not know what the hell is going on? You think I LIKE not knowing anyone around me, where I am, what I was doing when I forgot everything?” You were seething now, and he sat back down in his chair slowly, staring. “I don’t, alright?! I don’t remember you, I don’t remember _Angie, Angela, **whatever**_. I don’t know anyone who has been here to see me, and I don’t know where the hell I am. The only things I know are what people have told me, and even that's confusing, because no one tells me everything, just bits and pieces! I haven’t had a straight answer about any important question I’ve had since I woke up on this damn bed, and you expect me to just remember you out of the blue like that? I’m lucky I can even remember who I am, let alone know some random cowboy that looks like he just walked in off the ‘dusty trail’, yelling at me for something out of my control, okay?!” 

You were breathing heavily at this point, your head pounding with the onset of a headache. McCree pulls his hat up, running his hand over his disheveled hair, before placing it back on his head and standing. 

“It’s Jesse,” he mutters quietly, and you feel like you’ve overstepped a boundary by raising your voice.

“What?” You ask sharply, sharper than you intended. He reaches behind him and pulls a wooden case from his back pocket, making you flinch. It flips open to reveal a row of cigars, one of which he pulls out.

“The name’s Jesse. It ain’t McCree. Not to you.” He places the cigar between his teeth, walking towards the door, voice cold. “Only people I don’t know call me McCree.” He turns towards the window of the office. “Angela,” he barks in to the silence that has fallen over the room. “I’ll be back in a minute. You think you can handle it here?” 

Without waiting for a reply, he exits the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. The sudden stillness in the room is heavy and presses in on you, stifling, and you grab your tray from the table to give your hands something to focus on. You exhale your held breath, distracting yourself with your cold breakfast to counteract the guilt you felt gnawing at your stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ended up updating earlier because A) I have way too much going on this Wednesday, and B) I like this chapter.   
> And I wanted to get the other half of the chapter out since it was split in two. 
> 
> Side note, I like the idea of everyone having causal outfits when they aren't on missions. Like, I want to see McCree with a huge wardrobe of plaid shirts and dirty jeans because he doesn't do laundry often so he just has a bunch, or does the 'sniff' test on them to see what's clean and what's dirty. Or Reinhardt with a huge collection of nerdy shirts because he's a big D&D player/WoW player. Or Ana with a bunch of tactical clothing, but occasionally wears grandma stuff sometimes because it's comfy, like shirts with really ugly looking flower patterns (the kind that look like couches from the 70s) that she thinks are pretty/cute.


	6. Chapter 6

At some point during your sulking, you turn your attention to your arms, idly poking and prodding at your wounds. It was no difference to you, but you did notice that… Angela, seemed rather confused and in some way, worried, that you were healing as fast as you were. Then again, you didn’t seem that concerned by it. When your bandages had been removed, you had your first glimpse of them, and they had looked rather healthy for being as serious as she had led you to believe. Maybe it had something to do with how that staff of hers worked, as she had mentioned? 

You sighed, putting the thought out of your mind for the time being. Your fight with McCree, Jesse, had ground on a nerve in a way you couldn’t explain. He seemed nice enough, and you felt rather bad for yelling at him, even if he was the one that started the whole thing. Not that you’d apologize for it. You meant what you said and had no intention of taking it back. But it still made your stomach feel like it was twisted in a knot with guilt.

Setting aside the breakfast tray for a second time, just as untouched as it had been when you picked it up, you let out a sigh for the hundredth time since the fight ended. You considered getting up and trying to find something to take your mind off of it, maybe a magazine, but were interrupted by a rather meek looking Dr. Zeigler poking her head in through the ajar curtain. 

“May I come in?” She asked, for the first time you realized. You nodded silently, and she slipped through, shutting it behind her. 

“I tried not to eavesdrop on you both, but it was a little difficult…” She started apologetically, eliciting a shrug of apathy from you. 

“It’s fine… I’m just… Frustrated, I think. Everyone expects me to remember things I don’t. I know that it’ll probably come back in time, hopefully, but right now… I guess it’s just getting to me.” You chance a look at her, finding that she can’t meet your gaze. Instead, she looks at her hands with a small, sad smile. 

“We just would like to see you back as the person we knew before. And it will take us, myself included, time to remember that you’re not the person we knew before. Not quite, I mean,” she said, looking up at you. “Would it help if I told you a little about your time here? I wouldn’t be able to tell you everything, of course, but I believe there are a few that I could tell you. It may help you to remember things. But if not, then it will at least give you some insight as to what your time here was like, and why we may falter from time to time.” 

You take a moment before nodding slowly. With her smile now a little more bright, she takes a seat in the chair that Jesse had vacated earlier, before recalling numerous stories about your time spent among the other Overwatch agents, pausing after your initial excitement over the fact that you had indeed joined the organization, as 76 and Winston had failed to mention previously. Most stories were about you and Jesse making life difficult for 76, and another commander named Reyes, through ridiculously outlandish pranks that you had both pulled off. Most of them seemed to be Jesse’s idea, with you as a co-conspirator. Occasionally Angela would mention a mission that you had gone on, but it was only in passing. Everything that she told you aided in your impression of the people you worked with, especially Jesse, since most of the antics you were part of involved him. To you, he did seem rather brotherly, even in some cases taking the blame for things that were absolutely your fault.

“What kind of agent was I? What did I do, or specialize in?” You asked at some point, interrupting her for what felt like the millionth time, and you silently thanked her for her patience. However, she admitted that she couldn’t tell you, and you were left wondering. You had never trained yourself for any specific role, when you were preparing to join Overwatch. It had always been something you assumed would be assigned to you once you made the cut. 

Eventually, Jesse returned to the clinic, reeking so much of smoke that you could have sworn he trailed it as he walked, and stopped at the foot of your bed, looking rather sullen. Angela had trailed off at this point, sitting awkwardly 

Now, however, instead of hearing about what happened to the two of you as punishment, another uncomfortable silence had fallen over the three of you. You fidgeted with the edge of your bedsheet, chancing a glance at Jesse. He had taken a keen interest in the ceiling tiles and was avoiding your gaze. It took him a moment, and he shuffled slightly as he muttered quietly, still looking anywhere but your direction. 

“What was that?” You ask, arching an eyebrow at him. It was fairly obvious what he had said, even if you hadn’t been able to hear it clearly. 

“You know dang good and well what I said,” he huffed, crossing his arms stubbornly. “I’m not… I’m sorry. It’s just, you were you the last time I saw ya, and now… Now you’re not. And I got pissed. Just goin’ to take me a while is all...” 

You tap a finger to your chin in mock thought, letting the silence drag on until he sighs in exasperation. “Yes, I suppose I’ll accept that as an apology.” Angela stifles a laugh behind her hand.

With a very sarcastic smile from Jesse, you finally feel that the tension between you two dissolve, and are about to ask him about the details of one of your escapades, mainly regarding why he decided that it would be a good idea to tar and feather 76’s office, when a shudder passes through the building. A low rumbling akin to an explosion accompanies it, and you look to both Angela and Jesse, who look just as confused as you do. 

Immediately, an emergency light begins flashing, an alarm blaring twice before silencing itself. A smooth sounding feminine voice speaks through an unseen intercom after the alarm ceases. 

“All available personnel, we have a breach in sector 5, holding tanks 1 and 2. Emergency lights indicate direction of fleeing subjects.” The alarm and message repeats once, before stopping. Angela stands and brushes invisible dust off of the front of her lab coat, while Jesse moves to the side for her to pass. 

“I’m not a bettin’ man, but I’ll bet ya’ a nickel I know who did that,” he chuckles. Angela rubs her temple a little before heading to the medicine cabinet, where she pulls out various bandages and containers. 

“I thought that 76 said that they were contained down there… I think I need more burn ointment. We still have yet to resupply from when we brought them in.”

You look back and forth between the two of them, brows knit together in confusion. “Would one of you please let me know what’s happening here? You’re both rather calm about this, so I’m not sure if I need to be worried or…”

Angela waves at you absently, looking over the tray of medical supplies that she now has in front of her. “Nothing to worry about. I’m sure that everyone will have it under control here in a moment. Athena will let us know when everything is taken care of.” You stare at her, bewildered. How could anyone not be concerned about an explosion in the very building that they were standing in, you wondered to yourself. 

As if on cue, the female voice from before speaks over the intercom. “All personnel, the breach in Sector 5 has been contained. Please resume normal activities.” 

It was difficult to hide your surprise. It had hardly been five minutes, if even that, since the alarm had gone off. Whoever else was part of the Overwatch group was clearly efficient and good at what they did. You had the feeling that Angela had only mentioned a few people that were involved in the organization. Had you actually managed to join a group like this? 

Jesse leaned in towards you a little, watching the door to the medical bay. “Here in a minute, every one of those ‘personnel’ involved in that little firefight will be comin’ up here to get patched up and take a look at you.”

You had subconsciously followed his line of sight but quickly turn you head towards him. “Me? Why?” It had been a couple of days, so you had figured that everyone in the base had already heard about your memory loss and wouldn’t have much interest in the matter unless you regained some of those memories. 

Jesse looks at you in clear amusement for a moment before chuckling. “Kid, you’re like some kind of big name out there right now,” he started, walking over to the door for a moment and looking out down the hallway, before shutting it and returning to your bedside. “You’ve been the talk of the town since you got here. Half on account of that whole memory loss thing you got going on. Everyone knows everyone ‘round here, since we ain’t that big of an organization these days, not to mention we kind of all knew ya’ before what all happened.”

Again, you shoot him a questioning glance, which he waves off. “It’s a long story. Soon as you get the all clear by the commander, I’ll tell ya’ everything I know. Promise. Right now though, I need to keep everyone out of here, on account’a you being on lockup and all.” 

The answer wasn’t one you wanted, but one you begrudgingly accepted. You frown but give no protest. Jesse pats you on the back before moving to talk with Angela about relocating her supplies and giving medical treatment outside of the clinic area, which she agrees to, if only to keep from having chaos in her ward. You find yourself left to your own thoughts, and decide that you’d rather be doing something else with your time.

While the two of them are discussing what they need to do, you swing your feet out from beneath your sheet, setting them on the floor. It was cold outside of your bed, and you shuddered. It reminded you of something unpleasant, but you couldn’t put your finger on what it was that made it so unappealing, the thought just out of reach. Ignoring your hesitation, you brace yourself on the mattress and push yourself up, wobbling slightly before stabilizing. Not wanting a repeat of last time, you wait for a few moments to make sure that you have your balance under control before letting go of the handrail and taking a few tentative steps towards the outside of your curtain. Offhandedly, you silently thank Angela for putting you in a hospital gown that actually had some substance to it, instead of the flimsy paper ones that you were used to, before slipping out through the gap that had been left with Jesse’s exit.

Greeting you was the same room that you had been looking at for the past few days. It had been boring, the setting rarely changing, if only for the people that came and went, of which there were few. You had a fleeting desire to slip out from the door that divided this room from what you assumed would be a secure hallway, but weren’t sure whether you would be able to make it out, let alone how long you’d be able to stay out, if you even made it very far. It was Overwatch, after all. The best of the best, so you had been told countless times over the years that you could remember. And that breach from earlier had been contained so quickly that you figured you would be lucky to last one minute yourself. Maybe two, if you weren’t wearing a hospital gown and sticking out like a sore thumb. 

You stare at the door for a moment before turning away from it, instead heading towards the windows that line one of the walls of the room. You had only been able to get fleeting glances outside of your sanitized prison, so to speak, and hadn’t been able to take in the surrounding area since you had arrived. Your view, between curtains being drawn open and closed, mainly consisted of blue skies and the tops of rock formations that happened to be within frame. Naturally, with only this to go on, you had grown a little bit curious as to what extended beyond that. 

A few steps later, and you manage to make it to the window, blinking in surprise. The medical bay was clearly higher up than you thought it to be, which would have offered a rather impressive view, had there been anything worth seeing outside of your window. Instead, you were greeted by the sight of the ocean, stretching to the horizon before blurring in to the skyline. The rock formations that you had caught the tops of from your bed were the peaks of various rocks and boulders, which you assumed lined the building itself, holding it in place. A few sparse patches of grass, or weeds, you weren’t sure which, sprouted out from between chunks of rock, but other than that, there was little else. It felt like you were stranded on an island in the middle of the ocean. 

“T’aint much to look at, huh?” You jump, causing Jesse to laugh at you. He had managed to sneak up on you from the side, though how he had silenced his spurs, you weren’t sure. “It’s home though. Lot more to it than this though. You’re just takin’ a look at the back half.”

You turn you attention back to the ocean view, studying it a bit more before deciding that there absolutely was nothing more to the skyline than a few seagulls dotting your view. “Did Angela leave?” You ask causally, still looking outside, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing you angry that he caught you off guard. 

Jesse nods. “Yeah. Got her things packed up quick and left to see if anyone needed anything. Doubt they will, but she wanted to be sure.” He paused for a moment before continuing, almost apologetic sounding. “Commander said he’ll be up to move you later on. Most likely tonight. He wants it to be a quick shift I reckon. Can’t have too many folks knowing we’re movin’ you, otherwise we’d have trouble. Lena’s gonna throw a fit when she finds out we put you in the holdin’ cells.” He looks over in your direction, gauging your reaction.

The thought of you moving to a holding tank still irritated you, but you put it aside for the moment and shake your head. “It’s fine. I can’t say I really blame him for doing all of this, honestly... Tell me who Lena is though. I only heard it briefly from Angela.”

Jesse nods, shifting so that he leans against the wall next to the window. “She’ll be right upset that you don’t remember her. Spunky girl from somewhere in England. Runs around lightnin’ fast. Not bad with her little pea shooters, I guess.” He shrugs nonchalantly, though you detect a hint of ‘but I’m better’ in his voice, making you chuckle. “You’n her were pretty close. Closest to a sister you ever had. ‘Least that’s what you’d say. I’m sure you’ll like her all the same when you meet her. Again.” 

You roll your eyes at his slight bit of sarcasm. “Does she have any kind of code name? If you can tell me that kind of information, I mean. I can tell that 76 isn’t too keen on letting me in on a lot of things at the moment.” 

 

Jesse nods in agreement, adjusting his hat upwards. “Tracer’s what she goes by. She’s pretty well known, so I don’t see the harm in telling you that much. Not like you won’t know eventually anyways. I’m sure she’ll tell you herself if she gets the chance.” He stands straight and stretches out his arms. “Commander said he’d let folks come visit with you once you got moved, under ‘certain conditions’.” 

His finger quotes and pitiful attempt to mimic 76’s voice cause you to let out a very undignified snort of laughter. “You’re awful. That doesn’t sound too bad I guess… What conditions?” You reply, turning to shuffle back to your bed. The window had long lost its interest to you, and you had found yourself unusually tired from simply standing in one place, deciding it best to sit back down, if only for a little while.

Jesse meanders back with you, keeping an eye out in case you stumble or fall on your way. Once you were perched back on the edge of your hospital bed, he took a seat nearby, propping his feet up on the edge of the bed, similar to the first time you saw him. 

“Oh, the usual. Carry your weapons, don’t take your eyes off her, that sort of thing. Then again, that might partially be because we got two more down there too. Picked ‘em up on the way to get you. Just happened to be passing by when we saw a few explosions, went to investigate, and tossed ‘em in a holding tank until we got back here. Now they’re in the same place you’ll be.” He settled in to his seat and interlocked his fingers together over his stomach, much like he was preparing to take a nap. “That’s why we had that whole emergency happening. Guess they were right upset to be down there. Not that I blame ‘em. I would be too. I’d avoid talkin’ to ‘em if I were you. Nothin’ but trouble.” 

“Jesse, I don’t even know who you’re talking about right now. Am I supposed to?” You shift and sit back on your bed, getting comfortable. It wouldn’t surprise you if your cell wouldn’t have nice amenities like your hospital bed here, so you were determined to soak it all in before you got stuck with what you assumed would be a pitiful cot. 

“They’ve got a bit of a track record, so it wouldn’t surprise me if you’ve heard of ‘em in passing. But you knew about their crime spree before, yeah. Never went after ‘em though. You got used for other missions here and there. Names are Mako Rutledge and Jamison Fawkes, known better as Junkrat and Roadhog. Couple’a fellas from Austrailia been going ‘round robbin’ banks and pullin’ off other things. Never were a major priority, but we wanted ‘em off the streets all the same. They cause a ruckus when they’re out of lockup.”

You nod slowly. The name sounds familiar, and you recall that you had read about their rampages in some newspaper article. Something involving a well established bank with a lot of money inside of it going up in smoke due to a massive amount of black powder and homemade explosives. Of course, the police hadn’t found the money, and was assumed to either have been stolen from the scene, or gone up in flames. 

“You have those two here? Isn’t the bounty on them huge?” He nods curtly, and you lean back against the raised back of the bed. “Isn’t there some other place you can hold me? Lock me in a broom closet maybe? Put me on the cliffs outside? I’m not picky.” 

He chuckles. “Nah, you’ll be fine. We took all of their personal belongin’s from them, so they can’t make anything. Besides, only one that makes anything in the first place is the Fawks guy. Rutledge doesn’t mess with the explosives. Just throws a mean hook. You don’t give Fawks anything, and we’ll be just peachy.” 

He pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful. “Not sure what happened down there though. I’ll have to ask if Angie knows anything when she gets back. Doubt that anyone’ll make the same mistake twice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates may get a bit more sporadic. Posting now because my schedule is hectic until next month.  
> I posted the last of my pre-written chapters last week, so from here until I get more written, all are from scratch. I'll be attempting to put a bit more in each chapter, hopefully getting that average word count up from 2k to 3k or so. 
> 
> Picture will be included with next chapter, assuming I can finish it in time. I'll eventually post photos in previous chapters.


	7. Chapter 7

Jesse and you chit chat about various things here and there, spending the hours waiting for Commander 76 to arrive as peacefully as could be expected. You learn more about Overwatch during this time, mainly about what it’s like to be a member of the team, and all of the responsibilities that go in to rising up from the lowest recruit to one of prestige, like you had apparently already done. 

However, Jesse, much like Angela, wouldn’t divulge much in the way of your roles and responsibilities, his reasoning being that he would “get my butt kicked, chewed up, and spit back out” for doing so. Even with your pestering him, he refused to back down, and eventually you dropped the subject. It was evident that you weren’t meant to know, and only hoped that once everything was cleared up, you’d be able to have all of your questions answered. Angela, you found, was oddly absent from your conversing, though you only gave it a passing thought, chalking it up to her being busy with both the minor injuries that were obtained from earlier, among other things.

At some point, your conversation, having turned towards one individual of the team named Genji, whom Jesse had a few choice words to say about, was interrupted by a curt knock at the clinic door. Jesse stood rather lazily as 76 entered, looking more heavily armed than he had previously, a large rifle holstered on his back, followed by Winston, who squeezed in through the door frame much the same way as he had the first time you met him.

“Jesse, Y/N, good to see you as always,” Winston said, giving the two of you a nod, before continuing in to Angela’s office. 76 failed to acknowledge either of you, and instead had made a beeline for the office door ahead of him. 

You lean in towards Jesse, who remains standing next to your bed. “Is he always like this?” You inquire, the office door clicking closed behind Winston. 

“Who, Winston?” He smirks without taking his eyes from the door that the two arrivals had disappeared behind, causing you to lightly punch him in the arm. 

“No, you ass,” you hiss at him, holding back your own grin, “76. Is he always so… cold, to everyone?” 

Jesse shakes his head slightly, and you half consider that he’s trying to figure out what’s being said behind the door. “He’s just a bit concerned is all. Some days he can be downright pleasant, if ya believe the rumors, that is. Though I’ve never seen it,” he adds, chuckling quietly. “Don’t tell him I told ya, but he was mighty worried ‘bout you when you disappeared. Made findin’ you priority one after Winston made the call for everyone to hightail it back here.” He falls silent, and you muse on this, finding it difficult to imagine 76 being worried about much of anything, let alone you. 

“Reckon they’re getting’ the details all set up about the move, seeing as it’s past lights out and all.” You nod at his observation, having failed to notice the time until now.

“Most likely,” you agree. “I’m not really looking forward to a cot though. Guess I got used to this thing.” You pat the bed beneath you almost fondly, sad to part with it. 

“Oh? Guess I forgot to mention that. Angie already got yer temporary ‘living space’ set up. You’ll have more than the other two down there will, on account of you being part of the team an’ all. Though I’m sure the commander’s none too happy about it.” Pausing for a moment, he lifts the brim of his hat up and scratches his head. “Wouldn’t surprise me if she got ya a better bed down there.”  
Your face registers surprise for a moment, before creasing in to an almost relieved smile. “Guess there’s perks working here after all,” you mutter, making Jesse chuckle. 

“Somethin’ like that.” He makes an attempt to continue, but is cut off before he can manage anything else by the door opening to the office. Winston, followed by Angela, then 76, emerge from within. The gun resting on 76’s back had found its way in to his hands, and he held it aloft easily, despite its size. Angela moved off from the other two, approaching a cabinet close to the medical supplies and rummaging around inside of it. Eventually, she pulls out what looks to be clothing, approaching you and placing them at the foot of your bed. 

“Here you are! We’ll give you some privacy while you get changed,” she says gently before shooing Jesse outside of the curtain barrier and pulling it shut behind her. You hear Jesse and her conversing with 76 and Winston in a low murmur, but pay little mind to it for the time being. 

As you slide your feet out from under the blankets, you reach over and pick up one of the pieces of clothing, finding it to be a pair of light grey sweatpants. The other article is a t-shirt, black and plain, that you find to be the correct size. Slowly but surely, you dress yourself, folding the hospital gown up and setting it at the foot of the bed. The final pieces of clothing that you were given include a pull-over hoodie that had clearly seen a bit of use, judging by the lighter coloring at the elbows and ends of the sleeves, and a pair of white sneakers with a pair of equally white socks stuck in them. You slide on the shoes carefully, taking care with your ankles despite their rapid healing, and shimmy in to the hoodie, pulling it down. The hoodie was a bit bigger than you expected, handing down around the tops of your knees, the sleeves long enough for you to roll up. All in all, you expected yourself to look like a frumpy mess, but didn’t care. It was better than the gown.

You reach up and slide the curtain back, poking your head out through the opening and shielding your eyes briefly from the sudden influx of light. Blinking, you find everyone looking in your direction, causing you to look down at yourself in confusion. Maybe you had something on backwards, you surmised, and checked yourself once over before determining that this wasn’t the case. Your question, however, was answered before you had the chance to ask what was wrong. 

“Did ya have any bigger sweaters Angie, or was that the best ya had?” Jesse laughs, and you hunch up your sleeves, which had fallen down slightly, only making them fall down your arms again, causing Jesse to laugh harder at your wrinkly appearance. 

“Can it,” 76 barks, causing Jesse to silence himself almost immediately, sans a few chuckles. “Let’s get this over with. I want this done quick and quietly. Standard formation. I’m on point. McCree, you’re in back. Winston, Angela, left and right, in that order.” He turns towards you and approaches, holding a pair of thick metallic cuffs in his hands, distinct from standard police ones. They were much heavier duty looking, and instead of a chain between the two, they were connected tightly together, leaving no room to move. 

“Arms,” he says. You can almost detect an apology in his tone, but it’s gone before he even locks your hands and wrists together, and you decide that you imagined it. “You’ll stay center. Try anything funny and we’ll arrange for you to be taken there on a stretcher, if not a body bag, is that clear?” 

You nod, that familiar irritation from your prior conversation beginning to rise, held in check only once Jesse places a heavy hand on your shoulder, guiding you to the center of your entourage.

“Quick walk, Y/N. Won’t take but a little bit to get there,” he murmurs, loud enough for you to catch it, but quiet enough to avoid 76’s scrutiny. You barely nod, biting your tongue as you move in to your central position behind 76, who only glances in your direction once before moving towards the exit, Angela, Winston, and Jesse following behind you. Once all four of you are in the hallway, your group moves forward, walking at a rather brisk pace as set by 76, whom you decide is determined to get you tucked away in your cell as soon as possible. 

The path you take is winding, passing through hallways in varying states of repair, or decay. You aren’t certain if they are repairing the building or letting it crumble, as occasionally you have to maneuver around boxes of what appear to be disused pieces of metal, fasteners, and tools. Having been stuck in the clinic with only the occasional glimpse of the hallway beyond, your head seems to be on a swivel, taking in everything around you. 

At one point, you were so busy examining the various wires and cords that were exposed from the ceiling that you failed to notice the stairs that appeared in front of you, and were only saved a broken neck by Winston, who managed to stick his arm out in front of you in time. That interaction had earned you a glare from 76, and a sympathetic look from Winston and Angela. Jesse, you were sure, was wearing the same expression, though you dared not look behind you long enough to find out. You didn’t want to risk having a weapon drawn on you for it. 

The rest of your walk passed relatively uneventfully, and you soon found yourself at a door positioned at the end of a long, straight tunnel. The door itself was made of metal, and looked rather old, the rivets in it rusted in place. The handle looked to be the only portion that had seen any sort of use in the past decade, as it was more weathered looking, and distinctly rust free compared to everywhere else. You could hear a faint, muffled noise beyond the door, though couldn't place it due to how distorted it sounded through what was clearly a very thick sheet of metal. 

Defying your expectations, the door opened effortlessly, failing to squeal with age as you anticipated. Instead, it thudded open heavily, and you found your nerves had finally begun to get the better of you as you faced yet another long hallway, lined with barred cells. Beyond the threshold were real prisoners, people who had murdered others purely for self-gain, and the thought of having to be in a cell like them, to be equated to them in any fashion for that matter, made you queasy. Evidently your unease was evident, and you felt a hand on your shoulder again, gently guiding you forward. 

"Don't mind 'em, just like I told ya. You'll be out faster'n you can shake a tail feather," Jesse said, having to talk a little louder this time due to the yelling that echoed around you. The door had mercifully muted it beforehand, but having entered the hall, it bounced around off of the stone walls until it merged with more sound, creating a ridiculously loud din that made your head ache. You could tell that the racket was coming from one of the people being held down here, judging by how upset they sounded. Their colorful vocabulary, which was enough to make even a sea hardened sailor blush, combined with demands to be let out, only further cemented your initial suspicions as to the source. 

Though 76 walked in your way as you continued down the hallway, you could see around his form, and caught sight of a shattered pillar of concrete next to two cells with their bars all but ripped off. You furrowed your brows for a moment before realizing that this was more than likely the reason for the alarms from earlier. How the two down here had managed to do that to concrete and metal was beyond you, especially if they were supposed to be prisoners. Part of you wanted to ask them yourself, but you felt it best to sit in your cell until everything blew over and you were released. Then you could worry about prisoner interrogation. 

You turn your gaze towards 76's back, passing by the destroyed cells at the same pace that had been set when you left the medical bay, the other members of your odd entourage hardly giving it a passing glance. Then again, you supposed that you would have done the same, had your memories remained intact. Instead, you pass what little time you had remaining as a free individual studying 76's back, as it was the only thing you could really see. 

"You bunch'a fucks 'ad better hope I don't get outta this! I'll sick Roadie on ya and he'll throw the lot of ya off this fuckin' place in ta the closest rip I can find!" You find yourself drawn away from examining the stitching on the back of 76's shirt, as riveting as it was, instead turning your attention to the threats and yelling, trying to make sense of them. You weren't sure which of the two that you had read about was yelling. All you could recall were the names Jesse had given you, and the brief summary of them you had read.

The group you've been walking with begins to slow their pace to match 76's, and you glimpse a set of hands sticking through the bars on a cell, sooty and grime encrusted. As you approach the cell, more and more of the person behind the bars appears, the rest of them matching their hands rather well, though your sight is obscured by Winston before you can glimpse the man's face. 76's passing incites even louder protests from the man inside of the cage, and you silently offer up thanks that Winston's large frame initially blocks you from view. Even if you were a member of Overwatch, you still didn't want to interact with someone who could do the kind of damage that you had already seen and read about in the papers. It probably wasn't good for your health. 

"Oy! Who'd you drongos go an' drag in?" You wince. Winston's frame, though imposing and large, failed to save you from their line of sight one he had passed. "A sheila? Roadie, they brought a sheila in! Shame it idn't th' Queen, eh?" You hear a low, dark chuckle, followed by wheezing. Evidently the second inmate, previously silent, had laughed, though it was difficult to call it that. 

Mercifully, you had been blocked from sight again thanks to both the continued walking, and Jesse's position at the back of the group. You find yourself so relieved that you practically run in to 76, to whom you mumble an apology. He hardly acknowledges it, and instead busies himself with unlocking your cell door. A key pad number, which he partially blocks with his hand as he types, and a palm print scanner serve to open your 'door', which slides back on tracks. 

He motions for you to get in to your cell, and once you find yourself behind the tracks, he removes your cuffs, keying in the code and scanning his handprint afterward so that the door slides back in to place. A quick nod was all he gave you, before he turned smartly and headed back the direction that you had come from. Winston, giving you a few words of encouragement, departed soon after. Angela took a moment to verbally confirm with you that you were feeling alright after your walking, before departing as well. 

Jesse waited until the others had left before moving forward and talking to you through the bars. "Give it a few days. I hate seein' you in there as much as you hate bein' in there, belive me. You need anything, you let whoever's on duty know. They'll make rounds through here." You nod, words of thanks sticking in your throat. He reaches through the bars and squeezes your shoulder reassuringly before stepping back. 

"And if that one gives you any trouble, you just let me know," he adds, gesturing with his chin towards the cell with the grimy man, who seemed to take offense. 

"Me?! Why, I'm a true blue gent!" You almost laugh at his indignation at the suggestion.

Jesse's look doesn't waver, but you get the impression that he might just kill the guy if he did do anything. Once again, you nod, managing to find some words this time. 

"Okay. I will." And with your confirmation, he departs, leaving you decidedly alone, full of anxiety at being wedged between two convicted criminals. You shift uncomfortably in place, chewing on your bottom lip.  
"Sooo?" You jump slightly, instinctively looking over towards the cell to your right. Outside of your bars you glimpse a large fragment of mirror held by a grimy hand, a single, amber colored eye staring at you through it. "What kind of shit'd you get ya'self in ta end up in a place like this, eh?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the record state that writing an Austrailian accent is one of the most difficult things I've had to do yet. On a related note, I love a bunch of the different phrases and slang terms I've found. 
> 
> Sorry for this chapter being posted so late. I wanted to finish the image posted with it before submitting the chapter itself. I didn't have the opportunity to go back in and edit the chapter sufficiently to my liking, either, so it may be a bit rough. I should have the next chapter ironed out.


	8. Chapter 8

The two of you stare at one another for a few long, painful moments, you processing the question that had been asked so casually, and he seemingly waiting for an answer. Jesse had told you to not talk to them, but if you were going to share space, so to speak, you didn’t want to get on the bad side of two very wanted criminals right off the bat. 

Still though, you had seen the damage that had been done to the cell that they had previously been incarcerated in. Wouldn’t it just be best to avoid them, keep them at arms length, and bide your time until you were let out? You hardly thought that they would want to talk to you anyways, once they figured out that you were, are, an Overwatch agent, if they even felt like talking. From what you had already gathered, you supposed that any sort of conversation would skip over that part and go straight to the death and explosions. 

You turned your head away from whom you assume is ‘Junkrat’, much to his irritation, and instead inspected your new ‘home’. Your cell was certainly more comfortable than you expected it to be, and Jesse was obviously not exaggerating when he said that Angela would spare no expense in your recovery here. Behind your back, the mirror fragment withdrew with a ‘hmph’ and several inaudible mutterings.

Moving over to the bed, you sat on it, relishing how soft it was, even in comparison to your previous one in the medical bay. Next to your bed was a small sink, a mirror over it, and a toilet with a privacy curtain, thankfully already hanging. You would have happily sacrificed your bedsheet if it meant that you had to make one of your own to avoid that eye in the mirror. Other amenities included a small, four-drawer dresser, a small table with a chair and a desk lamp, and various writing instruments and paper. 

At the foot of your bed was a tall bookshelf, though it was lacking any sort of books on it. Instead, the shelves were filled with boxes, taped shut and covered with a fine layer of dust. Other boxes were stacked next to the shelf as well, your own handwriting spelling out your name on the sides of the cardboard, only further indicating that you had indeed been a member of the Overwatch team at one point. Standing, you pull a box out of the shelf and set it on your bed. It was light enough for you to easily maneuver, and upon opening it, you found it to be filled with clothes. 

The next few boxes were much the same, clothing and accessories, such as scarves and knit caps, all of which you placed, or rather crammed, in to your dresser drawers. A few more boxes allowed you to fill up the bookshelf space that you had opened with a variety of novels and information texts. A particularly weathered book, one on medical practices, caught your eye during your unpacking, and you tossed it on to your bed, intending to read it once you were finished. Joining it was a worn down novel that you remembered reading at one point in your school days, as well as a book on speaking Chinese. You noted that there were many language books in your collection, varying in difficulty and region, including Japanese, French, Spanish, Turkish, Russian, and even sign language, though you couldn’t say that you had ever had a desire to learn ALL of the languages you had books on, some of which you weren’t even sure how to pronounce. 

The sound of the door at the end of the hall went unnoticed as you continued to work on unpacking your boxes, intent on discovering more of who you used to be. Only when the sound of your next door neighbor’s screeching reached your ears did you stop to look up, curious as to what he was throwing a fit over. 

Making you way to the cell bars, you do your best to look towards the door, finding yourself wishing that you too had a piece of mirror to look out with, as it would certainly have made things easier. With a huff, you cease trying to stuff your face through the bars far enough, and instead turn back to your boxes. Whomever was there was probably the guard that was supposed to be on duty, and if they wanted to talk to you, they would be in front of your cell eventually, you reasoned. You begin unpacking another box of books, hardly able to think over Junkrat’s din regarding Omnic garbage, scrapheaps, and other Omnic-related profanities intermingled with slang that you weren’t familiar with in the slightest. 

“Watashi wa sugu ni shuppatsu shi, anata wa kore o okonau nodesu ka.”* The Japanese cut through the Australian din like a knife, and you looked up in to the face of who you assumed was the Omnic that had been the butt of Junkrat’s insults. He looked different in comparison to the models that you were used to, but you supposed that things had changed and developed since you lost your memory, and dismissed it, though made quick note of the sword that he carried with him.

(*I leave for a moment and you do this?)

“Watashi wa nani o subeki ka, koko ni suwatte nakimashita ka.” You find yourself replying without thinking, confusion washing over your face as soon as you finish. At no point did you remember learning Japanese, but yet you had understood him easily. Your confusion must have been evident, as the Omnic tilted his head to the side with a chuckle. 

(*What was I supposed to do, sit here and cry?)

“It seems you have not forgotten everything.” He crosses his arms across his chest. “Though it looks as if you still do not remember.” 

You shake your head slowly, still trying to figure out how you managed to absorb an entire language. “N-No… I don’t. Did I… know that before?” You mutter the last portion of your sentence, almost talking to yourself before turning back to the Omnic. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I don’t know…” You trail off, though he seemed to understand your implying. 

“I am Genji. And yes. You were quite fluent in many languages. Though your German was… lacking.” He reaches a hand through the bars of your cell, which you take in a firm handshake. 

“O-Oh… Well, I guess it’s good to know I still retained something then. Although I’m not sure that I really know it, to be honest.” You offer them a shrug and a halfhearted chuckle. There was a brief moment of silence, only interrupted by a slew of new and unusual curses from Junkrat. 

“Sorry about him, I guess. I don’t think he really likes Omnics.” You wince as a particularly colorful curse is spewed forth. Your apology, however, only elicited a laugh from him, and he waved it away. 

“No no, I am human. Or… Was. *Omnic wa arimasen. He is upset for another reason. Is that not correct, Fawkes?” 

(*I am not an Omnic.)

“You damn Omnic lovin’ drongo!” 

It was impossible to see him from where you were, but you had the feeling that he didn’t appreciate being referred to by his actual name. However, it did seem to make him calm down a little, his curses subsiding to a more tolerable volume level, if not an occasional mutter or two. 

“My apologies. My master is Omnic. That is why he is so upset. I think that you would enjoy his company, were you to meet him once more. He will most likely not be visiting you here, however.” You nod in understanding. If everyone elicited the same kind of reaction from next door, though, you weren’t sure if you wanted anyone to visit you. It would certainly be quieter that way. 

You turn back to Genji, crossing your arms in much the same fashion that he had done. “So. How many languages was I fluent in?” He stared at you for a moment, allowing you to recognize the eyes that were behind the red visor of his ‘face’. 

“If I am remembering correctly, I believe you were at eight. Although you were in the process of reaching ten.” 

He spoke so casually of it that you almost didn’t believe him. It was difficult for you to determine if he was lying or not, his face being obscured as it was, but you couldn’t help but believe that he was being sincere about it. Maybe it was his tone of voice, or the fact that you had spoken Japanese so easily and suddenly that it didn’t seem out of the realm of possibility. 

“Do you remember what languages?” You felt excitement creeping in to your voice and did your best to contain it. Any information you gathered on your old self was one step closer to figuring out who you were. 

“Japanese, obviously. French, Mandarin, Spanish, Korean, Swedish, Italian, and Russian. You had started German and Arabic. Angela was helping you with your German, but I do not think you had been studying it very long.” 

Another eight things to add to your growing list of forgotten memories. “Wow,” you manage after a second or two. “And… And I was fluent? In all of those, I mean.” He nodded curtly in reply, causing you to rub your face with one hand. After a few more seconds, your face contorted in thought, you nod. 

“…Alright. I guess… I’ll look at these books and see if I can jog my memory a little. Thank you, Genji,” you add, offering up a small laugh of resignation. 

“You will remember in time, Y/N. Do not lose faith. If you find that you need anything, do not hesitate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies for the time it took to get this chapter out. And for how short it is.  
> I had several things pop up that impeded my writing time, as well as studying for a certification that I will be testing for soon (hopefully, if all goes well). 
> 
> I also sat back and took a good long look at this work. Originally, I was just using this as a means to stretch my proverbial wings, having not written anything lengthy for a long, long time. Now, I feel that I need to reevaluate what I wanted it to contain. I took some time, wrote out a small 'script' of sorts for it, that way I had something concrete to look back on instead of writing off the cuff like I had before, did some research, and I feel much better about where it will go, and what will be in it. Hopefully this means that I will be writing much faster, instead of sitting staring at a blank page for hours on end, like I did originally with this chapter before scrapping it and rewriting it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update to make up for the fact that I might take a while with the next one due to work/studying. Looking forward to writing the next chapter though! Finally get something going here.

It had been about one week since your initial incarceration, time ticking slowly by as you spent your days reading books and finishing up unboxing your personal effects. You had managed to unearth a few photographs of yourself and other members of the Overwatch team, all squirreled away in a small shoebox, and spent an hour or two sorting through them all, hoping to glean something from them, to no avail. Most of the photos were from different events, as indicated in your own writing on the back of them, such as your initial induction to the team, birthdays, and other miscellaneous periods in what you had come to call your ‘past life’. Some people you recognized, like Jesse, Angela, and Winston, while others you weren’t familiar with, despite having names written on the back to accompany the faces.

Other items of interest were few and far in between, covered up by piles of clothes, shoes, toiletries, and other strikingly bland things. Once the last box had been set aside and stored away behind your dresser, you looked over the small collection of odds and ends set aside on your bed. An ancient looking first aid kit caught your eye first, and upon inspection, you found it to contain quite modern and up to date items. It did contain some odd extras, which you suspected you had added in at some point, including a small field surgical kit, some sort of expanding foam that indicated it was to be used to staunch bleeding by filling gaping holes, and a small jar containing dried herbs, which you later found to be used as a numbing agent when made in to paste. 

Along with this, you found a necklace carefully tucked away in a velvet pouch, one which you vaguely remembered belonging to your grandmother before her passing, and two rings attached to it, which belonged to your grandmother and grandfather. You had paused for a moment to look them over, recalling the two of them fondly. They had always supported your efforts to get in to the Overwatch program, even when others had not. If anything, they were the main reason you had joined at all. Your grandmother’s ring, a poured gold band with flowers at the top and small diamonds as the center, and your grandfather’s, a simple band with three equally small diamonds spaced evenly around the band, glittered as you put the necklace on and tucked it in to your shirt. 

The final item that you had set to the side on your bed was an ancient looking book, the spine cracked and frayed with continuous reading and re-reading, so much so that the title was weathered away, and the pages so yellowed with age it was difficult to believe that they had ever been white. Upon opening it, you found it to be a copy of A Tale of Two Cities, and spent the next day reading it, gingerly turning each page as you did so. 

At one point in your reading, a glimmer from the corner of your eye causes you to look up, and you catch the edge of the mirror shard as it disappears around the corner. With a frown, you watch it poke itself back around, the golden colored eye of Junkrat staring back at you. 

“Not ta’ interrupt, but Roadie here was hopin’ ta get a bita readin’ from ya. Can’t say why, nevah was tha readin’ type meself.” 

You had the feeling that he shrugged when he said that, judging by the way that the mirror piece tilted slightly. With a sigh, you stood, marking your place in your own book. It hadn’t been the first time that Junkrat had tried to talk to you in the few days that you had spent in your cell, and you had given him rather curt answers, when you had felt like answering his questions or small talk at all, but he had never asked for anything, and you had never offered. Despite Jesse’s warning to you to not give anything to them, you didn’t see the harm in letting one of them borrow a book. After all, you were fairly certain that you weren’t able to make explosives from paper and ink, and it WAS in between guard changes, so it wasn’t as if anyone would notice, so long as they weren’t paying attention to the cameras. 

“What kind, then?” You ask, walking over to the opposite side of your cell, the mirror shard following you. You almost took a step back as a rather large hand stuck itself out from between the bars of the adjacent cell, and a gruff, bass voice accompanied it. 

“Fiction,” was all he said, his palm open in expectation. 

“Man of many words I see…” You mutter, earning you a rather maniacal giggle from Junkrat’s direction. Turning towards your bookshelf, you select a few different novels while Junkrat prattled on to Roadhog across your cell, who only replied with a few grunts here and there. Eventually, you return to the large outstretched hand and offer one book at a time. The first two were rejected with a gruff “No,” but the third one, a copy of Fight Club, ironically enough, he accepted with a grunt of approval. 

“It better look just like it does now when I get it back,” you mutter, turning and replacing the books you took from the shelf. Roadhog responded with a dark chuckle, followed by a few harsh coughs. 

You knew that Junkrat was following you with his mirror shard. You could feel his stare, even through the glass piece, but did your best to ignore him, knowing that reacting to him would most likely only encourage him to antagonize you further. 

“Oy, sheila,” he finally says, pausing to listen for the approaching sound of the next guard shift. It would be Ana, you realized, and she often times turned Junkrat in to a human pincushion when she arrived simply because he was too loud for her liking. He had taken to falling unusually quiet when she arrived in order to avoid her tranquilizer darts. “So what was it you said you got thrown in here for again?” 

You audibly sigh, having been over this multiple times with the man since your arrival. At some point or another, you had been fed up with remaining silent about the matter, probably when he pestered you for a solid ten minutes, and caved. But he had never been satisfied with your answer, and kept coming back to it. 

“I told you, I don’t know, okay?” You run your hand over your face in exasperation, knowing full well that he still wouldn’t be satisfied with that. 

“Yeah yeah, ya say that. Way I see it though, looks ta me like they wanted ya out of tha way ‘cause ya dangerous.” He gave a catcall-like growl before cackling. “I mean, even ya friends come in with weapons, why else then, eh? Not like ya got any kind of idea when they’ll be gettin’ ya out.” 

“Sure, Fawkes, you got me. I’m a scary, dangerous menace to society.” He glares at your use of his name, huffing. 

“That’s Junkrat ta ya, thank ya very much!” You roll your eyes in his direction, turning away from his to resume your reading. 

“I’ll call you Junkrat when you quit calling me sheila.” You situate yourself back in your mattress, picking up your book and finding your place, while Junkrat’s mirror piece disappears back around the corner. It wasn’t as if people haven’t said your name since you got here, after all. How hard was it for him to refer to you by that? 

A few minutes in to your reading, and one tranquilized Junkrat later, you realize that you’ve re-read the same chapter three times over already, without absorbing anything from it. Marking your place once again, you set it to the side, your mind wandering back to what Junkrat had mentioned. 

_"Not like ya got any kind of idea when they’ll be gettin’ ya out."_

That was true. For all that Jesse, Winston, and Angela had said, it felt like you’d have been moved out of here a lot sooner than now. Clearly you weren’t intent on escaping, you could have easily done that by now. And you didn’t think that you’d even come close to causing any kind of disturbance, even if you had wanted to. So why was it taking so long for them to let you out? 

Rolling on your side, you make it a point to ask Jesse when you saw him next. Jesse would surely have answers, you reasoned, and would at least let you know a timeline of when you would get out and back to something normal. Maybe even being on a normal, albeit less interesting, schedule would jog something in the white noise that was your memory banks. At this point, it felt like if you didn’t get out of this cell soon, you’d be here far longer than you wanted to be.

With that in mind, you doze off with a yawn, hoping for some sort of change in what was becoming a very bad routine.


	10. Chapter 10

With a start, you find yourself awake, the cell and surrounding area quiet and still with the dampening effect that night and the changing of the guard brings. Sighing to yourself, you swing your feet out from beneath your blanket, wincing slightly at the cold floor once your feet make contact with it, and pick yourself up from the bed, heading towards the bathroom, absentmindedly patting the stack of books you had sitting on your nightstand as if verifying that they were real. 

Before you draw the curtain around yourself to block the view from any prying eyes, you hear a faint metallic clanking noise disturb the peace, though you determine it to be Junkrat moving about next door, even though it sounds odd to you. Dismissing it as your sleep deprived brain making things up, you continue your business, finishing up and pulling the curtain back, intent on getting in a few more blissful hours of sleep. 

Your sleep desires fade to a distant memory in the back of your mind, however, when the wall to your cell explodes inward, flinging you back against the opposite wall and momentarily stunning you. Stars wink in and out in front of your eyes, warning of a potential blackout, though you manage to stave it off. A few coughs to clear the dust from your lungs momentarily make you lean forward, only adding to the threat, and you blink back tears in an attempt to both remove the debris around your eyes, and clear the stars from your vision. 

Through the dust, you view the destruction of your once clean and pristine room, bed overturned and covered in rubble, books in your organized bookshelf scattered across the floor, some destroyed beyond use, much to your dismay. Various trinkets and pieces from your life before lay strewn around as if they were garbage. Beyond all of your things, a giant hole in the rebar and brickwork of your cell stood dark and imposing, though it was dwarfed in comparison to the figure that stood amid the dust and chunks of rock. You had never seen anything other than the brief glimpses through the mirror shard, and the mug shot in the newspaper, but you had no doubt who was limping in to your room, though it took your addled brain a few precious seconds to process. 

With a cackle, Junkrat stepped fully in to your cell, looking around at his handiwork proudly. From your seat against the wall, your nostrils were assaulted by the slight, yet pungent, smell of oil, gunpowder, and general grime caked on the man in front of you, only intensifying as he approached you. As he walked, you attempted to scoot yourself away from him, grimacing at the aches and pains you felt all over your body that would eventually turn themselves in to bruises later on. However, you didn't have the room to escape very far, and he soon loomed over you, looking down at you with the stare of someone slightly touched in the head. You hadn't noticed how intense the amber color of his eyes was through the mirror, but now it seemed to cut through the settling dust at they found your own. 

He stooped down, almost eye level with you, though his height caused him to remain a few good inches above you, even sitting up straight. You found yourself almost gagging from the stench of machinery that hung around him, the acrid stench of singed hair that accompanied the glowing embers still visible on his head, and blessed the dampening effect that the dust had on it. With a glance towards his arms, you notice the large, metallic looking box tucked underneath one. 

"Good un', wasn' it? Not my best creation, mind, but what with all I had ta' work with..." He gave you a maniacal grin and shrugged, sliding a hand under your arm and pulling you up in to a standing position. Your head swam with the sudden movement, causing you to stumble slightly in to his chest. You feel an arm snake its way around your shoulders, pulling you uncomfortably close to him and causing you to tense up. 

"No time ta' be getting' cozy, darl. Gotta get Roadie out." He punctuated this with a dark chuckle, pushing you towards the hole in the wall. You stumbled and recovered, looking over your shoulder in time to see him turning back and setting up the box he carried next to the relatively unmarred portion of the wall, chatting about this and that as he did so. It was clear he wanted to blow out a hole in to the adjacent cell, and destroy enough of the bars and concrete to make it in to the hallway. "Gotta make it a quick one, need ta' hit the frog and toad soon. Got this n' that ta' get 'fore we get back ta' business." 

You look around, suddenly quite aware of the nature of the metal box, and hurry to get behind a portion of the wall that remained standing. In the few moments you had to yourself, you realized that an alarm was going off somewhere in the building, though it wasn't clear where it was coming from. Before you can gather up the effort to both move and risk calling out for someone, you find yourself joined by the crazed explosives expert, who slides to a quick stop next to you, leaning uncomfortably over your form as he cranes his neck out from behind the wall. 

"Ready Roadie?" He yells, causing you to clamp your hands over your ears quickly to stifle what you fear is another explosion. You hear a muffled 'Fire in the hole!', before your fears are confirmed, a loud rumble and shudder passing through the room followed quickly by a billowing cloud of smoke. You cough a few times, a smaller cloud of dust emanating from your person as you do so, before being hauled up to your feet once again by Junkrat. 

"Come on, come on, we gotta move," he says, clearly still thrilled by the second detonation, as evident by the grin still plastered across his face. "Roadie, be a pal, would ya?" He says, pushing you towards a dark and even taller shadow emerging from the dust cloud before turning and beginning to gather bits and pieces of your things in to a disheveled looking bag from your floor. You stumble once again, slamming in to a wall of flesh that you reflexively push against, looking upwards. Glass lenses of a gas mask stare down at you for a brief moment before the gigantic hands that you had seen previously lift you in to the air with relative ease and tuck you under one arm. You instinctively panic, thrashing and beating the arm holding you in a silent protest of fear, only to have the arm tighten its grip, threatening to squeeze the air from your lungs. In the back of your mind, some small portion of you tells you to find a way out, that you were a member of Overwatch at some point for a reason, but it’s quickly subdued by fight or flight. A low growl of irritation causes you to pause and turn towards the stomach you’re suspended against, before being roughly adjusted with a shake. 

“Ooh, sheila’s feisty, eh Roadie?” You turn your head quickly, only to find Junkrat’s nose a few inches from your own. With a yelp, you jerk back, rocking Roadhog’s arm as you do so, eliciting another growl of irritation from the giant. Junkrat chuckles, only to be silenced by Roadhog’s large hand cuffing him upside the head. 

With a hand to his head, Junkrat’s face quickly turns to one of irritation towards your captor. Had it been anything other than an apparent kidnapping and prison escape, you might have laughed. “Ow! Ya big oaf, whadya go and do th-“ Roadhog gestures towards the wall with a single finger, silencing him, and you understood what he was suggesting. It was time to leave. Now. 

“Riiiiight, right. Frog and toad. Quit slowin’ us down, Roadie!” Turning on his good heel, Junkrat limps out through the impressive hole, before yourself and Roadhog emerge behind him. Not more than a few steps in to freedom, and the door at the end of the hall slams open, revealing Jesse, backed up by 76. Swearing, Junkrat retreats back towards yourself and Roadhog, standing uncomfortably close to your side.

“Set th’ little lady down, and we’ll get this all settled nice n’ easy,” you hear Jesse drawl, his pistol drawn and pointed towards the two Australians. “I wouldn’t go that far,” 76 mutters, training his rifle in your direction. 

You sigh in relief, only to have it cut short by something cold pressing against your neck. Glancing to the side, you see the mirror shard, previously innocuous in Junkrat’s hands behind the cell bars, now held so tightly against your skin that you fear to even breathe. Jesse and 76 both visibly tense, eyeing the two with caution. 

“Now don’t go and do anything stupid…” Jesse mutters, hesitating. You were fairly certain he could hit both of the men easily enough, but figured that he was worried about you getting hurt in the process. After all, Angela was no where in site, and if you were cut on your neck, you’d probably end up bleeding out before she got there. 

“Who, me?” Junkrat replies, his voice devoid of humor and joviality, replaced by something cold enough to make you shudder involuntarily. “Seems like you’d be the one doin’ that, mate. Drop em’, or I’ll drop her.” You feel a small nick of pain on your neck and understand that he’s drawn blood. Looking over towards Jesse, you see him grimace before holding up his hands, dropping the six shooter to the ground. 76 takes a moment longer, almost testing Junkrat’s threat, before following suit, setting his rifle down slowly before putting his hands up. 

“Now, in the clink,” Junkrat mutters, gesturing towards one of the cells nearby. Hesitating, the two of them look at one another, eliciting a sigh of irritation from Junkrat. Painfully slowly, they march their way towards the cell indicated, shutting the door once instructed to do so, effectively locking away your would be saviors. 

Once the two were sufficiently squared away, you find yourself being hauled off with the two escapees, bouncing rather uncomfortably with Roadhog’s loping gait. After a few minutes of scampering through the halls as fast as Junkrat’s wobbling walk would allow, you find your voice, previously silenced by a mixture of fear and shock over the entire situation you were in.

“You got away, just set me down somewhere,” you manage, finding your voice to be notably smaller than you remember. Junkrat stops at your remark, looking back over his shoulder at you long enough for you to squirm beneath his intense stare, before turning back and continuing forward. 

“Nah. Think we’ll keep ya ‘round for a bit.” His remark is met with a deep ‘hmph’ noise from Roadhog, causing Junkrat to protest. 

“I’m not takin’ a crack at- …Just think havin’ her ‘round would be useful is all!” He trailed off in to a mutter, keeping far enough ahead of the two of you for his comments to go mostly unheard, though you managed to make out a few words here and there to suggest he was offended. With a small sigh of resignation, you allowed yourself to be carried with little protest, instead putting your mind to work on figuring a way out of the mess you were in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, finally something more than sitting around waiting. 
> 
> For reference:  
> Frog and toad - road; as in 'hitting the road'  
> Clink - jail


End file.
